


A Series of Historical Events

by otakuashels, Shuriken7



Series: A Collision of Worlds [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cute, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Lemon, Love, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken7/pseuds/Shuriken7
Summary: Hand in hand, fist to fist. In agreement and in strife. It doesn't matter as long as its together.





	1. Just a spoonful of sugar part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Oh my goodness welcome to the next book everybody! We are so glad you have read this far! Ack its been such a long ride and so much fun to write and we hope youve had as much fun as we have.  
> IMPORTANT NOTES
> 
> 1\. Now this is still going to be historical but this book is going to be book 3.5 and is going to be a bit more flexible as their relationship builds and we touch on some of the fav tropes of this pairing! So lets get ready to rumble!!!
> 
> 2\. After noticing that we have been writing this for 4 years we have decided to kick it up a notch and see if we can handle it. We are stopping our every other week updates to go to EVERY SINGLE WEEK UPDATINGGGGGG
> 
> WOOT WOOT
> 
> So we hope you enjoy 3.5 drop us a hello and anything thats on your mind. 
> 
> LETS GET GOING, Enjoy some talk of winter in summer!

_July 1866_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I know for a fact that you have indulged in Mr. Cadbury’s sweets during your trips to London, including his drinking chocolate that he sold when he first opened. Now his sons are the ones running the business and I am as fond of Richard and George as I was their father, John.  Since you are so very fond of the chocolate bars they created in 1847, I have sent a small package over with this letter, although I am certain you opened it before reading the letter you impatient twat, it includes a product that has just come to market this year. It is called ‘Cadbury Cocoa Essence’. Until now, as you know, cocoa is rather bitter and not something I am all too fond of, yet these boys have acquired a machine from a Dutch manufacturer and they no longer have to use copious amounts of  starch to mask the taste of the cocoa butter! It is Britain's first unadulterated cocoa. It’s being advertised as ‘Absolutely Pure. Therefore Best.’ Even medical doctors have stood by the benefits it appears to have. You must tell me how you like it._  

_Your Servant._

_Arthur_  

***

Transmitted July 27, 1866 from Washington D.C. to London

Dear Arthur. **Stop.**

My boss said it was only right that. **Stop.**

I get to send the second message. **Stop.**

I could take a cotton to the telegraph. **Stop.**

Saves a lot of time. **Stop.**

Chocolate was great. I’m going to make a. **Stop.**

better recipe for you to try. **Stop.**

Sincerely yours. **Stop.**

Alfred.

End Transmission.

***

Transmitted July 28 from London to Washington D.C.

Good luck on trying to do that Alfred. **Stop.**

Alfred, don’t get a gift and be cheeky. **Stop.**

I know I taught you better than that. **Stop.**

Your Servant, Arthur. **Stop.**

End Transmission.

***

Transmitted July 28 from Washington D.C. to London.

Don’t be so stingy, Arthur. **Stop.**

We can all make chocolate. **Stop.**

I know you’ll like it. **Stop.**

You know you like the things I make. **Stop.**

Sincerely, Alfred. **Stop.**

End Transmission.

***

Transmitted July 29 from London to Washington D.C.

Don’t claim that I like things you make. **Stop**

And I certain that stingy was not the **Stop**

Word you were looking for. **Stop**

Expand your vocabulary perhaps. **Stop**

Your Servant, Arthur. **Stop.**

End Transmission

***

Transmitted July 30 from Washington D.C. to London

Stingy in some ways. **Stop.**

There’s some things of mine you like. **Stop.**

Admit it. **Stop.**

Alfred. **Stop.**

End Transmission

***

Transmitted July 31 London to Washington D.C.

I shall admit no such thing. **Stop.**

Do stop accusing me.   **Stop.**

Arthur.   **Stop**

End Transmission

***

Transmitted August 1 from Washington DC to London.

Need a reminder? **Stop.**

Alfred. **Stop.**

End transmission.

***

Transmitted August 2 from London to Washington DC

I don't need you to prove whatever you. **Stop**

Think you are referring to.   **Stop**.

Arthur **Stop.**

End Transmission.

***

Transmitted August 3 from Washington D.C. to London

I would offer to remind you **Stop.**

but I have to go out to Chicago **Stop.**

Later **Stop.**

Boss says stop hogging **Stop.**

the telegraph. **Stop.**

Alfred

End transmission.

***

_December 15, 1866_

_London, England_

“I got you an early christmas gift... whatever does that even mean?” England muttered to himself. Victoria had swung by his study while he took breakfast and made the small announcement with a prideful grin before sweeping away. The sun, although pouring through the window behind him hindered by no curtain or shade, offered little warmth against the frigid winter temperatures. Even the fire in the hearth that chattered away happily was unable to completely push back the chill that clung to stone walls. Sipping away at a tea cup that threatened to go cold he peered over the latest financial reports from parliament. Far too much blasted money.  There was a swift knock on the door just before it opened. “Yes, Charles?” Only one member of staff had permission to enter his study.

“There is a man who is waiting to see you, my Lord."

“I have no appointments today.” England frowned, looking up.

“Apparently he was asked to come by her Majesty. Although, I was not aware of it until just a few moments ago as well.”

“And where is he? Who is he?” England frowned and pulled off the spectacles that had been perched on his nose.

***

America could remember sitting at his desk in September, frowning over a problem that was springing up with the transcontinental railroad when President Johnson had dropped the telegram off on his desk. “The Queen of England insists you visit at Christmas.”

Grabbing for the paper, reading it hurriedly, he couldn’t resist the smile that sprung up on his face. Foreign policy had grown more conservative after the war, and he could tell that the president was a little confused by the invitation. “Well, I do know her.”

“If you are going to go make sure you strengthen trade relationships.”

“Yes, sir. I look forward to strengthening relationships.”

Now, he was standing in England’s parlor, a place he’d been many times before. It was cold, so he stood close to the fire, curiosity drawing him to the few objects on the mantle. He immediately recognized one, a rather lumpy attempt at a metal figure. The first thing he’d ever tried to blacksmith. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand while he waited.

***

“And what are you doing here?” England’s voice came through the door before he had finished opening it. England scowled from the doorway, arms crossing over his chest. The minute Charles had informed him that it was America who was waiting in his parlour he had abandoned his reports and afternoon tea to make his way and confront the other.

America turned to look at him. “Didn’t the queen tell you? She invited me for Christmas.”

“Victoria did-” England gaped, the random scenario from earlier that morning suddenly making sense. He blinked twice before frowning and entering the room, closing the door behind him for privacy’s sake. “And you didn’t think to tell me beforehand?” He was excited to see America, not that he would admit it outloud, but his irritation at being caught off guard smothered the delight. Pulling his pocket watch from his coat pocket he checked the time, watching the little spade hands tick. He clicked it shut and pocketed it, looking up to see America staring.

“I figured you knew,” America replied. He settled an object back on the mantle and stepped towards England. “But... surprise, I guess?” He laughed.

With a huff England rubbed at his temple. “I have sent Charles to make sure that your normal guest room is ready if one already hasn’t been attended to. How many diplomats have come with you?”

“There were a few new aides, but they have lodging. It’s just me.”

“And you brought a fully functioning wardrobe? Or shall I have my tailor set to work on something for a formal event?” His hands settled on his hips and America stopped in front of him.

“I’ve got a trunk. What formal event?”

“A ball celebrating Christmas, of course.” England frowned “The trees go up today around the palace.” He brightened at the thought.

“Christmas trees are becoming popular at my house, too. President Pierce put up one in the White House before the... well, before the war.” He shrugged, as if shaking off that specter from his past.

“We can thank Albert for that one.” England crossed his arms again, a sort of uneasy silence falling between the pair.

Smoothing his hands on his trousers, America took another step towards him. “I’m happy to see you.” He patted England on the shoulder.

“Yes…” England said slowly. “I am pleased to see you, as well. I guess I shall see to your rooms so that you can get settled.”

“One thing first,” America said. He leaned forward and kissed England on the cheek.

Tensing, England’s eyes widened in surprise. Not necessarily shocked by the physical gesture, but with the casualty in which it had been performed. Sure, he had expected America to kiss him, but more against a door, or as they stumbled backwards towards a bed or linen closet as their clothes littered the carpet. Not a kiss on the cheek. Head turning slightly he stared at the taller blond in silence.

“Come on, Arthur, show me my room and then we can decorate a Christmas tree, right?”

“Uh…” England paused. “I am sure Charles could direct you with that endeavor... I have paperwork I should finish.”

“I come all this way and you’re going to leave me on my own?” America’s mouth turned down into a pout.

“I can’t just drop everything, Alfred.” England frowned “You arrived out of the blue. Plus, they won’t start decorating the trees until after supper... I am having one placed here in my parlor.” His shoulders relaxed. “How about we decorate that one together?”

“I’d like that,” America said, “I guess I’ll go to my room and clean up a bit, I probably smell like the ocean.” He made a show of lifting his jacket collar to his nose.

“Everyone always says that like its a bad thing.” England rolled his eyes “You shall be in the same room as always, like I mentioned. And I am certain Charles has already had a group of maids air out the room. But I shall lead you there, regardless.”

“Making sure I remember the way back to yours?” America teased as they walked down the hallway.

“How amusing.” England gave him a look.

“Don’t worry, Arthur, I’m sure I’ll put a smile on your face before this trip is over.” He winked at him.

Rubbing at his temples once more, he groaned quietly “I don’t remember raising you to be so cocky.” He sighed as they reached the room.

“Just keeping you on your toes,” he said. America walked inside and dropped down onto the parlor sofa, yawning.

England arched a brow “Where did all the energy go? You seemed so eager to decorate a tree and berated me for wanting to do my work and now this?”

“Well, if you’re gonna just leave me here I might as well take a nap.”

“l shall send a servant up with afternoon tea, then.” England sighed.

“Golly, what do you want me to do, tackle you and keep you here? It’s almost Christmas, you can’t take a break?”

England bristled, turning red as an image popped into his mind at America's choice of words. “I was in the middle of something! You know I hate being interrupted right in the middle of my work!”

America leaned back, his arms spread out on the back of the sofa. “You better get to it then. I’ll just be here, remembering the last time we were together.”

England scowled “You mean saying goodbye on the dock? That is rather rude considering you just arrived here!”

“Oh come on! You know that wasn’t what I meant. You’re so literal.”

Ears burning England looked away, cheeks puffing in embarrassment “If this is a way for you to try and woo me into your bed before supper you are doing a rather awful job, Alfred.”

America got up and came over to him, pulling him into an embrace. “That sounds like you want to be wooed? I thought you said that was only for courting? Is that what we’re doing now?” He pressed his nose into England’s hair.

“No!” England muttered quickly, hands resting on America’s chest in weak protest.

“Just friends, huh?” America said, not sounding like he believed it at all. He pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth.

“You and your labels.” England sniffed turning his head to press his mouth to America's.

***

America felt his heart leap in the kiss. He’d been a little worried that absence had cooled England’s feelings for him, but that was clearly not the case in the way he kissed back. He didn’t care what England wanted to call it for now, not after waiting so long to be in his arms. When England’s fingers hooked into the knot of his tie, America pulled back slightly. “I thought you said you had work to do?”

“Make up your damn mind. Do you want me to attend to my paperwork or stay here with you?” he growled impatiently.

“You know the answer to that.” America slid his hand to the small of England’s back. “I just have plans for tonight and it does not include you blaming me for having interrupted your paperwork.”

“I am already blaming you, because you already interrupted me.”

“You gonna make me pay for it?”

“Well you’re going to have to.”

“What sort of payment you looking for?”

“Whatever I deem suitable.” England pulled him down for another kiss. _Fair enough,_ America thought, eagerly meeting him in the kiss and letting England drive him backwards until he hit the door to his bedroom. A thrill of anticipation curled in his stomach at the first touch of England’s fingers on the skin of his chest. Fumbling for the doorknob, they were soon inside the room.

Stumbling slightly over each other’s feet they made their way towards the bed. Placing a firm hand in the center of America’s chest England gave him a solid push, knocking the larger man onto the bed. “If you wish to take a nap then this would be much more suitable than the chaise.”  England tsked looking down at him.

Reaching up with a playful gleam in his eye, America tugged England down on top of him. “I think you’ll do for a blanket.”

“I thought you had plans tonight that you didn’t want to be bothered with by my work.” He caught himself with his hands, peering down at the other nation.

Stretching out on the bed, America closed his eyes. With a slow release of breath. “If you must, Arthur. I’ll just be here thinking about you thinking about me.”

“Your seducing skills are awful.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping you would decide to leave me with something to think about.” America said, hopeful smile on his face as his fingers wrapped around England’s wrists.

England's nose wrinkled in confusion. “You are mental.”

America sighed and used his hold on England to push him on his side and kiss him. “Go do your work or stop talking about it.”

“Make me.”

“Gladly.” America grinned, and rolled over on top of him, pushing England against the blankets and kissing him again. Each time England tried to move or say something, America was there effectively silencing him with amorous attention.

“Oy,” England panted clapping his hands over America's mouth as the younger tried to kiss him again. Instead, teeth found his neck and his thoughts scrambled as a hand worked inside his trousers.  “You-you know that you have to present yourself to her Majesty.” His eyes fluttered shut, back arching sharply. “You can't, you can't wait too long-fuck!” He grabbed America's wrist to stop him.

“I’ll see to it when you get back to work. I’ll just tell her I needed to clean up first,” he said. “I’ll be honest when I say I’m happy to be touching British...” He made a pained noise as England pinched his ear.

“Don’t be so vulgar!” England growled

“Says the guy trying to get his hand in my pants.” A groan escaped his lips as England squeezed the front of his trousers, before working on the buttons again.

“Well yours is already in mine so shut up.” He grunted and paused. “Or I could stop here?” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t.”

England raised a brow and pulled his hands back, tucking them beneath his head. “Really?”

“You think you can keep your hands off me?” he said, his fingers working with more speed as his other hand wound into England’s hair. He leaned up, catching him in a breath stealing kiss. Hands fisting into the sheets England kissed him back hard, hips trembling.

“Alfred.”

“What?” America’s reply was slow, his thoughts were having a hard time making it to his lips. He tasted the sweat on the underside of England’s jaw. England’s breath caught in the back of his throat as America refused to relent. Back arching his heels dug into the bed, burying his face into his shoulder as the heat in his belly snapped.

America tilted England’s head up so he could kiss him. England’s climax seemed to run from the other’s skin to his own, heightening his own senses. His body wanted its own release.

England whined in protest at the kiss, over sensitive and trying to catch his breath. “Alfred.”

A questioning sound fell from America’s lips. His fingers loosened on England’s body to move to his own. Breathing words of encouragement, England left a trail of open mouthed kisses along America’s neck, his teeth sinking into the flesh behind America’s ear, the boy crying out and going rigid against him.

“Good boy,” he muttered as America dropped his full weight against him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t touch me once.” America said, once he could catch his breath again. There was no venom behind it, just a hint of wonderment.

“You bet me. And I won the bet. Don’t be sore.” England nudged him until he rolled onto his side and England followed, tucking his nose into America’s neck, muscles relaxed.

“Well, I expect full attention later,” he replied, pressing his face against England’s hair. “Far less clothes, too.” He chuckled a little at the fact that they were still more or less fully dressed, although hardly in a state to be seen.

“Needy, needy,” England murmured “I didn’t even get to finish my tea.”

“Hmmm, but you’ll have more later.” America muttered, the journey across the Atlantic was catching up to him. He hadn’t been lying that he was tired. “It won’t be the last pot of tea I pull you from. That’s a safe bet.”

“You have certainly done it more than once already.” England sighed, sitting up.

America put his hand on England’s back, tugging a little on his jacket. “You’re going to go?”

“I do have work to finish if you want me to have time for the tree later.”

Releasing him, America leaned back on the bed. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Of course.” He straightened his clothes. “If you have need for anything just send for Charles.”

***

America cleaned up and greeted Queen Victoria as he promised. He was a little nervous. The last time he’d seen her had been during the war. “Thank you for inviting me, ma’am.”

From her throne Victoria stared down at him with blatant disinterest “I owe Arthur,” she said flatly.  

She blamed him, that was clear. It stung a little, but America wasn’t going to let it drag him back down. It was when he stared too long at the darkness when problems arose. He could argue the point, but that could get him on a steamship back home. England wouldn’t be very amenable to his presence if he was at odds with his queen. He offered her a friendly smile. “I won’t make you regret it.”

“I heard he was pulled from his study earlier, before the papers Parliament needed were finished.” She frowned.

“We needed to discuss something. He returned to his papers when we were finished.”

“Of course he did, he was being responsible. Something Americans could stand to learn about.” She sniffed. Before she could continue or America could respond the doors to the throne room opened and England slipped inside.

“Forgive my tardiness.”

“Your Queen was worried that I had drawn you from your work against your will,” America muttered to him as England walked by.

Giving a small bow from the waist, England stopped before the throne before stepping at Victoria’s side, hands clasped behind his back. “I welcome you, Master Jones.”

America resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If he had to stand on much more ceremony he was going to run away and just kidnap England. “Thanks, Kirkland,” he said, trying not to laugh. He saw England’s brow furrow, but he could only fault him so much for dropping the “lord”, they were close after all.

***

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath as a look of fury crossed Victoria's features. _Alfred, you just have to fuck everything up don’t you?_ “Master Jones, if you would be so kind as to remember your manners at supper tonight it would highly be appreciated,” he said slowly, as Victoria opened her mouth angrily. She cast him a glare, which he returned with a pleading glance. He really didn’t want to have to stop a shouting match. He could just see their trade agreements beginning to crumble if the anger in Victoria’s eyes was anything to go by.

“Of course.” He nodded at him.

“Don’t make me reject you and your delegates from my palace,” Victoria said sharply and England’s head dropped in defeat.

“Your Majesty-”

“Absolutely not, Arthur,” her response sharp, “One more toe out of line and I will send them packing!”

“Your Majesty, there is no reason to take such extreme action. I will endeavor to not offend you.”

England shot him a pleading glance. _Please just shut up!_

“That shall be the day,” Victoria sniffed. “Offense seems to be something you are gifted with.”

“I suppose I will leave you to attend to other business.”

England pinched the bridge of his nose as Victoria’s frown deepened. “I did not dismiss you.”

“Victoria.” England bent over with a desperate whisper. “Please. He’s American-”

“And his diplomats know better. And they are also American.”

“Please, just let me escort him out. Supper is being served soon and we all still have to change. And I am becoming frightfully hungry and really don’t wish to be late.” He gave her a pleading expression which she relented beneath.

“Well, all right.” She patted his cheek before turning a cool look on America. “You are dismissed,” she announced and it was mere seconds before Arthur was down from the raised through, hand in the small of America’s back and all but shoving him from the room, the doors slamming shut behind them.

“She used to like me,” America said when England shoved him into one of the offices.

“She doesn't like Americans,” England muttered shutting the door hard. Whirling around he glared at America. “And really!? You know how much she stands on ceremony! You know how much etiquette and such are important to her and yet you pull that kind of stunt when you are aware that she is sore around you to begin with! Really, Alfred? You can’t just suck it up a little bit!?”

“I did! I didn’t realize the British court demanded more subservience than ever. I’m not having this argument with you again!”

“All you had to do was address me with my full title! That has never changed!” England ran his hands through his hair in exasperation with a groan. “She is going to use that as ammo during supper I know it!”

“Then seat me far away from her. I’ll sit with Edward and his wife. Is Denmark still following his princess around to make sure you don’t scare her off?”

England scowled. “Alfred, you have to sit near us. The seating chart is already done no doubt. And that's not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Rubbing at his eyes England sighed. “Can't you just be nice for once and not piss her off?”

“I was being nice! What does she want from me?” 

With another sigh England shook his head. “Just forget about it. We need to go change for supper...” he stared at the door. “She is going to keep me up all night I know it.”

“The invitation came from her! Why would she invite me out here to spend time with you... and then she’s going to snub me? What happened to me wasn’t my fault, it was a lot of things that happened all at once!”

“This has nothing to do with your civil war, Alfred.” England sighed. “You know for a fact you two have not gotten along since after her coronation.”

“And she knows how I feel about you, so I don’t know why she keeps trying to make me, personally, jump through hoops.”

“Maybe because of obstinate disregard for things we hold important? I don’t know, Alfred.” He shook his head “Can we just go?”

America crossed his arms. “Lead the way.”

With a sigh, England opened the door and silently lead the way back to his personal section of the living quarters. “Just change for supper and return to my rooms when you are ready, Alfred.”

***

“Is this suitable or am I going to offend someone?” America asked, stepping into England’s rooms in a new suit that he’d had fitted before he left. It felt far too fancy and stiff.

“Alfred, don’t be petty.” England sighed turning around from his changing table. He paused in the buttoning of his vest, eyes widening as he took in America’s attire. The suit was that of latest American fashion and it fit the man like a well tailored glove. America had even gone so far as to wear a tuxedo coat, which if the story was true had just been debuted at Tuxedo Park in New York just that fall. “And a red satin vest to match it,” England said quietly as he did his silk puff. “And you favored the four in hand I see... Alfred you look very suitable, a bit daring, but very well.”

“It’s quite the thing ain’t it?” he replied, smiling at England. “Francis had better watch out, I might catch up to him with setting fashion trends.”

England snorted. “That would have to mean the frog is setting trends.” He rolled his eyes. “Like a peacock,” he muttered.

“Well, now that we’re all gussied up I guess we should go to dinner?”

“Yes. I suppose so.” England sighed shrugging into his tailcoat. Walking over to meet Alfred England eyed him carefully. “Though I do believe that there is something that could wear that suit better than you, Alfred,” he commented seriously.

“Oh?” America said, raising an eyebrow at England’s scrutiny.

“My floor,” he commented lightly, heading for the door.

A flush spread over America’s face as he hurried to catch up. “Is that a promise?”

“Perhaps,” he drawled. America chuckled and followed him out the door so that they could be announced at dinner. Despite the smaller nature of the dinner, ceremony surrounded it all. Luckily, this part was easier since America’s own people insisted on certain orders of entering dining rooms and what not, just not quite to this extreme. Since England got to escort the Queen into dinner, America offered his arm to Princess Louise. She herself was not terribly drawn in by the ceremony and told him about her art and the work she was beginning as her mother’s secretary.

“American ladies are lucky that they don’t get married off,” she sighed.

“They do sometimes, but not in the same way. It’s usually about money.”

The conversation at the table at large turned to literature. “I recently read a dashing novel by A.M. Barnard, _A Long Fatal Love Chase,_ is it true the author is really a woman?” Princess Louise asked.

“Miss Alcott would be pleased to hear you liked it,” America replied.

“Are you corrupting my Princess Louise?” England's question came from behind him as England’s hands rested on to the back of America’s chair.

“She was just telling me about her excellent taste in books,” America said, looking up at him.

“Well I shall second that statement.” England smiled down at the young woman. “Sometimes I believe she spends more time in my personal library than I do.” He grinned as Louise blushed. “Louise, dear, your mother wants your attention.” He gestured to where Victoria sat watching the trio with scrutiny. 

“That begs a question then,” America said, “Are you reading my novelists?” 

“Of course I am.” England sniffed taking Louise’s seat as she left to attend to her mother. “Just as I read Antonio’s, Francis’s, Ludwig’s and more. It's good to read novelists from other nations, it helps you learn about them in a much different way than a conversation.” 

“What do my novels say about me?” 

“That you’re young and annoying,” he said flatly. _That you’re sensitive, thoughtful and passionate. You have come so far from the little nation that was in that field._

“Just you wait, they’ll keep getting better.” He adjusted in his seat so he could better look at England. “Is that why you came to talk to me, to make sure I wasn’t corrupting your royalty to my democratic equalities?”

“No, I came because I plan to leave early.”

“Do I have permission to leave early?” 

“If you’re with me you can.”

A smile spread across America’s face. “Then let me accompany you, Lord Kirkland, so that you can retire.” He stressed the word ‘lord’, drawing out the sound of the vowel, a hint of teasing. 

“On second thought perhaps you should stay with your delegates and talk to her Majesty,” he replied.

“I’d much rather go with you.”

“And I'd much rather not be mocked.” He sighed, getting up. “Let's go.”

“I get in trouble when I use it, I get in trouble when I don’t,” America said, shrugging after they’d said their good night to the hosts. “I wasn’t mocking you, just trying out the title.”

“It's the manner in how it was said.” England sighed. “Go ahead, change and meet me in my parlor.”

Reaching out, America squeezed his fingers. “See you soon.”

Staring at him for a brief moment, he nodded and headed to his chambers. Passing the servants setting up the tree in his parlour he gave them a nod of thanks and a request for hot drinks before closing his door to change. 

America thanked the servant that showed him the passageway and grabbed a few clothing pieces and hurried into the narrow corridor, trying to make it into England’s rooms before he went back. The door opened. “I think you made me a promise earlier,” he said when England looked at him in surprise.

“How did you… what?” England clutched his shirt closed and stared at him from the front of the wardrobe.

America dropped down on the edge of the bed. “I wanted to see the servant’s paths, they showed me and one leads here.” He grinned at him.

“Of course...” He finished buttoning his shirt. “Well, are you ready?”

“No, but I’m afraid I escaped my valet before he could help me out of this jacket.”

England arched a brow. “Well, hurry along then.”

“Help me? I don’t want to wreck the tailor’s work.” He stood up and turned around. With a shake of his head England walked over to the man and grasped the shoulders of the jacket, pulling it off carefully. “Thanks.” He picked through the pile of clothes he’d brought with him, undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

“Of course. I'll meet you in the parlour.”

***

“Is that the tree?” America asked, walking into the parlor in looser trousers and a cream colored shirt that he’d rolled to the elbows.

“No, it’s a painting of one,” England said dryly as they looked at the evergreen. Two boxes sat at his feet, one of candles and the other of Christmas ornaments.

America came forward and picked out a few of the baubles, hooking one on the tree. There was a knock on the door and England left America to the tree to go answer it. Charles stood outside holding a silver tray two steaming cups of cocoa essence. “Perfect Charles, thank you. I shall take it from here,” he smiled taking the tray and closing the door.

“Hot chocolate?” America asked, “I blame you for getting me hooked on that stuff.”

“It's wonderful isn't it?” England set the tray down and brought the cups over, handing one off.

America blew on the top of it before taking a sip. He watched England over the rim of the mug as the other leaned down and picked up one of the candle holders and hooked it into a branch.

“Are you going to make me do all of this?”

 “Just observing your technique.” America sat down his mug on the tray and came back over to help England put up the ornaments and candles.

“Technique, huh.” England gave him a look but let it slide. A comfortable silence fell between the pair only interrupted by the talkative fire in the hearth.

When reaching into the box for the last piece, their fingers bumped together. America blushed, feeling a little silly considering exactly how much touching they’d done earlier that very day. “We should put it up together.”

England stared at him,  a giddy feeling rolling into his chest at the thought. It made him nervous. “Um... why?”

“Because, then we’re finishing it off together.” America took England’s fingers in his own, settling the ornament into his hand.

A weird feeling filled England's chest as his cheeks grew hot. Fingers twitching he was tempted to pull away and put distance between them, to see if that would stop it. Yet, at the same time he found such an action impossible. He nodded. 

Lifting their hands, they hooked it onto a bare spot on the tree. Pausing, America stepped back to admire it, his fingers still hooked around England’s. “Should we light the candles?”

“Mn... not tonight.” 

America nodded, “It looks nice.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of England’s head. “Are there any cookies to go with the hot chocolate?” Turning away from him, he went to examine the tray that the hot chocolate arrived on.

Touching his hair England swallowed. “No, but I could send for sweets.” He sat on the couch picking up his cup once more.

“Cookies would be good.” He came over to sit down on the couch beside him, stretching out his legs. “No rush though.” His shoulder pressed against England’s.

“Sweets do sound good.” England scooted away to lean against the arm of the chair watching America’s hurt expression. Before the other could say anything he placed his socked feet in the boys lap and turned to eye the tree.

Fingers settling on England’s foot, America began softly massaging one. He settled deeper into his seat on the couch, watching the little expressions on England’s face. With a sigh of satisfaction, England scooted down down further, resting the back of his neck on the arm of the couch. “I forgot how good you are at this.” he murmured.

“I didn’t forget how much you like it,” America replied, starting work on the other foot.

England was half tempted to gesture rudely at the other man, but decided it was too much energy. With unfocused eyes he watched the fireplace, warmth and exhaustion of the day tugging at him to sleep.

***

Noticing that England had drifted off, America watched him for a little while as the fire burned lower in the grate, the light flickering over England’s face. He couldn’t remember all the times he’d watched England asleep, worrying about what would happen when he woke up again. When he was young, it was that each morning could mean England was leaving. More recently, he wondered if the other would be pleased or cross. When they’d been losing themselves in the woods, America had watched the daylight dawning across England’s skin, waiting for the moment that would decide the day. Carefully, he shifted England’s legs so that he could slide off the couch, bending over to pick him up.

With England in his arms, he walked into the bedroom and lay England down on the bed. He adjusted the blankets around him so that he wouldn’t get cold and made sure the bedroom fire was laid with enough wood. He came back to the bed and sat down on the edge. Running his fingers gently through England’s hair he said, “Good night.”

“Are you just going to leave?” England’s voice was soft and heavy with sleep, pulling a small noise of surprise when the American realized he was awake again.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“You made us head to bed before the maids even brought in the warming coals. Therefore you shall have to remedy that.”

“I didn’t want you to wake up with a kink in your neck from sleeping on the couch,” America said as he pulled back the blankets to settle beside England. He wrapped his arms around him. “Better?”

“It will do,” he sniffed, hiding his red face in the pillow. America felt pleasure spread through his chest at England’s fluster.

America chuckled. “Just ‘do’? You flatter me so.” He pressed his nose into England’s hair.

“Don’t get used to it.” He yawned.

“Always a surprise.” America yawned in response and snuggled closer to England trying to get comfortable.

“Get used to that, however,” England muttered, wriggling around until he faced the other.

“Being in bed with you or being surprised?” America said, adjusting so that he could take his glasses off. He rolled away slightly to drop them on the bedside table. 

“Surprised.” He frowned.

“I like surprises... well, good surprises.”

“At least you clarified.” England sniffed as America rolled back towards him. Reaching a hand of out the blankets and straightened a wayward section of hair. He hesitated for a moment, but leaned in capturing the others mouth with his own. There was no rush or pent up lust in the kiss, he just wanted to do it. Hand settling on the back of America’s head he deepened the kiss gently, swallowing America’s noise of surprise. America responded by leaning more into England’s space, tangling their legs together beneath the sheets. He could taste the sweetness from the chocolate still on his tongue. America’s fingers brushed over England’s cheek for a moment and settled on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Tongues dipping back and forth England twirled America’s hair around his fingers his thoughts practically non existent. Feeling America’s body tense with excitement he switched to stroking his hair slowly. Coaxing the other to relax.

“That feels...” America started to say, but it faded into a pleased sound. Settling against him, America tried to be patient and enjoy the warmth spreading over his skin.

Glad that America had opted to not speak, he kissed him soundly, pleased at something so simple. He was tired and warm and something so simple was rarely something he got to relish. Snuggling against him, America soaked in the comfort. The kisses grew softer and slower until they drifted off to sleep nose to nose.


	2. Just a Spoonful of Sugar part 2

It was clinking of chinaware on a breakfast cart being rolled into the parlour and the curtains being pulled back that signaled the morning. Charles turned from the window to see Alfred sitting up.  “Good morning, Master Jones.” He looked to Arthur who remained dead to the world. “Shall I wake him or leave that you, sir?”

 

“I’ve got him, thanks.” He smiled at the servant, waiting for the man to leave. He reached over and shook England gently on the shoulder. “There’s food.”

 

“Don't care,” England muttered pulling the blanket over his head.

 

“I think there’s tea,” America said, sliding back down into the blankets so he could wrap his arms around England’s middle. He pulled his back to his chest and pressed his nose to the back of his neck. “You’re going to make me eat it all by myself?”

 

“I never said that.” England yawned.

 

“Just that you don’t care. So, you won’t care if I eat all of the sausage?” He kissed the back of England’s neck.

 

“You must leave me some. That's an order.” He frowned.

 

“I don’t take orders from you. Besides, it sounds like they are unclaimed territory.”

 

England bristled. “Excuse me?”

 

“If I get to the sausages first, they’re mine.”

 

England turned to glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

 

America shifted away. “Uh huh.”

 

“I'm not sure you'd like the consequences.” He warned.

 

“You think I can’t handle consequences?” America didn’t move away, just watched England with a playful look in his eye.

 

“Yes, I’m quite sure.”

 

“Hm.” America moved quickly, tossing the blankets towards England so he could hurry over to the breakfast tray.

 

England swore loudly, yanking the blankets off of his head before barking “You touch my portion and yesterday was the last you'll have of me in any bed for the duration of your visit!”

 

“And if I share my conquest with you, what do I get?” He pulled off the cover of one of the breakfast plates and plucked up one of the food items in question, stuffing it in his mouth.

 

“You'll be spared a smack upside the head,” he hissed

 

“I don’t know... it might be worth it.” He laughed and ate another piece. 

 

England glared at him. “I’m not kidding, Alfred.”

 

“You want some you’ll have to come over here.”

 

“Or you can bring it to me”

 

America raised an eyebrow, but plucked up the breakfast plate and brought it to the side of the bed.

 

“Your going to present me breakfast without tea?” England pouted. Drawing his legs to his chest, he propped his chin atop them.

 

“You’ll owe me,” America said, settling the plate onto the bed covers.

 

“Sure, sure,” England waved his hand dismissively, picking up a crumpet already slathered with his favorite jam. Charles knew exactly how he liked it. The sound of clinking could be heard at the breakfast tray, until America reappeared with the tea cup and held it out to him.

 

“Thank you,” England said, primly taking the cup. Taking a sip he smothered a cringe and continued to take small drinks of it as America sat back down to continue eating.

 

“Did you sleep well? You barely moved in your sleep.”

 

“Like the dead. I'm guessing you didn't.”

 

“You know me, early riser.”

 

“Doesn't mean you can't have slept well.”

 

“I slept fine.” America got up off the bed to pull the breakfast cart closer.

 

“Good.” He nodded grabbing another crumpet,  pleased with how heavy with jam and clotted cream it was. America flopped onto the bed and chewed absentmindedly on one of the pieces of breakfast ham. 

 

“I should have laid claim to the pastries,” he teased.

 

“Charles had far too much sent up. There is plenty if you want some.” England shrugged, licking cream off of his thumb when he realized the napkins were out of his reach.

 

America watched England’s mouth for a moment, reaching out to wipe a bit of cream from England’s lips.  Jolting, England looked back at him in surprise. He watched as those ocean blue eyes darkened ever so slightly. A small grin twitched the corner of his mouth upwards. “Really now?”

 

America’s eyes went wide in an attempt at an innocent expression. “What?” He brought his finger to his mouth and tasted the sugar he’d brushed off England’s lips. “You’re right, that is good.”

 

“Yes, it is. So do kindly get your own.”

 

“Fine,” America said, drawing out the word. He rolled over onto his stomach and scooted around on the bed so he could reach the food. Taking one, he stuffed it in his mouth.

 

“Alfred! Honestly! Where are your manners!?”

 

“Where they’ve always been.” Stretching forward a little more, he got a hold of the coffee pot that sat next to the tea pot and poured himself a cup.

 

England’s nose wrinkled as he finished eating. Setting his cup down, he grabbed and fork and knife and took to cutting up one of the sausages. “I don’t understand why you would choose that swill over a perfectly good cup of tea.”

 

“Because I like it better.” America gave him a haughty expression and picked up a fork to stab at the eggs.

 

He shook his head “At least Matthew never lost sight of a good cup of tea.”

 

“Matt is Matt. He also hangs out with polar bears and is getting a quirky accent.”

 

“I think his accent is cute.”

 

“He sounds like me... but not? It’s hard to describe. I just hear it when a Canadian shows up. It’s like someone from Boston showing up in Charleston... not that I would recommend that at the moment. But hey... everyone knows who the favorite colony is... well, the one that is an offshoot. Unless you aren’t speaking to India personally anymore.” 

 

England paused. “My business with my colonies is my own, Alfred.”

 

America looked back at him. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

“Then let's drop it.”

 

“It looks like it’s going to snow,” America said, changing the subject.

 

“I hope it does.” England peered out the window wistfully.

 

“I guess we won’t have to chop wood this time.” He scooted closer to England and leaned up on one elbow to smile at him.

 

“Thank goodness, no.” he sighed in relief. 

 

“Maybe you won’t cheat in the snowball fight this time ‘round.” He laughed.

 

“I did not cheat!” 

 

“You call acting like you twisted your ankle a strategy? I was soaked to the bone!” America paused, sneaking a piece of bread off England’s plate. “Although I suppose your apology more than made up for it.”

 

England gave him a look. “Next time don't throw snow at me then.”

 

America rolled his eyes, and chuckled. “You can be such a stick in the mud. If it snows we should go out and make a snowman or something.”

 

“If it snows I'm taking Lily out for a ride.”

 

“Lily?”

 

“My new mare.”

 

“Thoroughbred?” 

 

“Of... sorts, yes.”

 

A confused expression appeared on America’s face. “She’s either a thoroughbred horse or not... so which is it? Can I see her?”

 

An amused expression came over England's face and nodded, “Of course you can.” 

 

“Great!” America replied, grinning. 

 

Finishing off his cup of tea, England settled back into the mountain of pillows against his head board watching as the other continued to eat. “Where do you put it all?”

 

“I’m always hungry.”

 

“Growing boy,” he teased. 

 

“Sea to shining sea.” 

 

England groaned draping his arm over his eyes “You’re insufferable. “

 

Pushing up and crawling over to England, he lay his head onto England’s lap. “Insufferable, huh?”

 

He grunted. “Exactly what I said.”

 

Reaching up, America brushed his fingers on England’s cheek. “I think you can suffer me. I suffer you.” He said the words with a hint of a joke behind them. “Come on, Arthur, you can’t possibly be cross in the morning.”

 

“I can be cross whenever I please!”

 

“That so?” America leaned up, shifting so that he could put his face close to England’s. “What could we do to make you happy?”

 

England peeked out from under his arms with a scowl. “Not be squished to death.”

 

“Well, I don’t mind being squished.” He pulled England with him as he rolled so that he was resting on his chest. 

 

“Manhandling!” England squawked, slapping his chest. 

 

“You know you like it,” America said, wrapping his arms around England’s waist.

 

“I never said such a thing!”

 

“I know you.” 

 

“Don’t claim that you know such things!” He scowled.

 

“It’s fine to be known. Everyone sees you, but doesn’t really  _ see  _ you.”

 

“And you think you’re the only one that does?” He scoffed. 

 

“You don’t think I do?”

 

England’s expression darkened. “No. Nobody does.”

 

“I know about you. About how you were kind to me when I was small and absolutely terrifying when I was older. Harsh, demanding, defensive, caring... there’s lots of things I know about you.” 

 

“At least you fear me like you should,” he sniffed. 

 

“Yep, terrified.” America leaned up to kiss him, chuckling a little.

 

With a scowl, England nipped at America’s bottom lip in response. “Don’t be an arse.”

 

“Rough, that’s another quality I should add to my list.”

 

“You have no idea what rough is.” England snorted. 

 

“No?”

 

“Don’t act coy with me.” He scowled, pushing away. 

 

America flopped back onto the pillows with a sigh. “Since you are determined to rebuff all of my attempts at making you smile this morning I’m gonna go read in the parlor.” He scooted towards the edge of the bed.

 

“If you prefer.” 

 

“I don’t, but you’re being stubborn.”

 

“I am not being stubborn about anything of the sort,” he argued.

 

America stood up, crossing his arms. “Are you happy I came?”

 

England paused. “I am... not upset at your presence.” He looked up at the ceiling. 

 

“Is that a neutral or a positive?”

 

England’s cheeks reddened. “It’s... positive.” 

 

“You could just say you are happy to see me.”

 

Turning a darker shade of red, England turned away to stare at the wall. “A - accepting Victoria's invite was smart of you. It will be good for relations.”

 

America came closer, climbing back on the bed so he could reach England. He pulled him into a hug. “Good for relations, huh?”

 

“That’s what I said, idiot!” England stammered as he was pulled face to face with the other. “I thought you were going to read in the parlor?”  

 

America grinned at him and leaned forward for kiss, it was long, warm. He pulled away, slowly. He examined England’s face for a moment. “Well, now that I’ve managed to get a smile out of you... I suppose I could go read.”

 

“Your wooing skills are atrocious.” England scowled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and getting to his feet. He grunted in surprise as America followed suit but grabbed him by the waist and pulled him around. 

 

Tipping England backward so that he had no choice but to cling to him, America kissed his forehead. “Well, you’re not exactly the easiest subject to practice on.”

 

“Are you calling me difficult?”

 

America kissed the edge of his frown. “You’re the same way you’ve always been.”

 

“Strong enough to kick your ass.” He grinned.

 

“That sounds like a challenge.”

 

England snorted before giving him a flat stare. “You could try to fight me or put your mouth back to better use before someone comes looking for me.”

 

“I’ll make you eat your words later, but for now...” America pressed England back into the mattress and pressed his mouth to his. 

 

***

 

The snow was starting to fall. America shifted on his feet outside the door to the stable. England was inside bringing out the horses.

 

“You sure you can ride English saddle?” England asked as he led two horses out. One was as bright and clean as the snow falling around them while the order was black as the night sky.

 

Taking the reins of the black horse, America rubbed the horse’s nose. “It’s not that different from the old saddles I learned to ride on. You’ve just decided to ride so primly.” He gave him a teasing smile, as he went around and pulled himself up into the saddle. “Dandy.” He pressed his heels into the horse’s sides and it started off down the path.

 

With a sigh England swung himself in the saddle and with the press of his knees urged his mare forward. Pulling the hood of his cloak tight he allowed his horse to lazily catch up with America’s.

 

“I’ll race you to the other end of the grounds,” America called over his shoulder.

 

England arched a brow.  _ He really can't tell that Lily isn't a normal horse. I should let him win otherwise that would be cheating.  _ “You’re on.”

 

Waiting until England rode up beside him. “One, two, three, go!” 

 

Shaking his head, he nudged his mare forward as America spurred his gelding into a canter. “Just follow very closely. There is no reason for us to win this one.” England murmured learning over to whisper in the white horse’s ear. With an irritated snort, his mare sat on the black gelding’s heels, keeping pace. Snow flew up from beneath two sets of hooves, mixing with that falling from the sky. 

 

“Ha! I won!” America turned his horse around to grin at England. “Not that I was worried at all.”

 

“Of course not.” England rolled his eyes “Yes, yes, you won.” He patted his mare’s neck with amusement. 

 

Giving him a strange look, America asked. “What’s so funny? I mean, she is pretty, but not as fast as this one.” America pulled his horse up closer to England’s, patting Lily on the neck.

 

“If it appears as such to you.” He shook his head  “You’re name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name,” he murmured before looking back at America. “Sure. You won.”

 

“Do I win anything?”

 

“Excuse me?” England stared at him, clutching his hood as a particularly strong gust of wind swept across the grounds. Cringing as they were slapped with a wave of loose snow, his attention diverted to the trees shuddering in the wind, branches bowing beneath the weight of the snow. He looked back at America “What kind of prize could you be thinking of? We are out in the middle of the grounds in what seems to be turning into a blizzard.”

 

“Since you seem open to one... we’ll figure out when we get back.” America shivered and started back towards the stables.

 

Draping his reins over Lily’s neck, England crossed his arms as they followed after America and his horse. “I hope this passes soon. I would like to go on a proper ride.”

 

“The only thing to do in weather like this is to be indoors in bed. I hate the cold.” He shivered again and prodded his horse into a trot. England shook his head in amusement. 

 

“I would prefer a book in front of the fire, or something of that nature” England decided as they entered the stables, stable hands coming forward to take their horses. 

 

“Anything that involves a blanket,” America said, brushing some of the snow off his sleeves as they crunched through the snow back to the palace.

 

“It's a good thing your territory does not extend further north.” England laughed “Though the winters near your great lakes are particularly cold, so I'm surprised this bothers you this much.”

 

“Just ‘cause I get snow doesn’t mean I like it,” America said, pouting as they got inside.

 

“I love it. I wish I got more.” England lowered his head as servants rushed forward to take their outdoor wear.

 

“I’ll send you some.”

 

“If it worked like that things would be much easier.” England rolled his eyes as they headed towards their rooms. 

 

“Maybe you’ll get some for Christmas.”

 

“Well, considering Christmas is tomorrow and it’s snowing now that looks likely, Alfred.”

 

America shrugged in acknowledgement. “I’m going to my quarters to change into something dry. Are we eating with the Royal family...?” He trailed off, not a little bit of hope in his voice that such an occasion wouldn’t occur.

 

“Of course we are. It's Christmas eve.”

 

America sighed. “All right.” He sneezed and turned down the servant's hall towards his rooms.

 

“You can't take the servants’ hall, Alfred.” He frowned.

 

“They don’t mind.” America waved at him and disappeared behind the wall panel.

England bristled in anger. Whirling around he stormed down the hall giving no thoughts to those that scurried out of his way. There America went again! Having a complete disregard for how things were done in his house! 

 

***

 

America exited into his bedroom and began pulling off the damp clothes from the ride. He was glad that the fire had been laid hot. “Do you need any assistance, Mr. Jones?” A valet said from behind the door to the parlor.

 

“Not yet, but I’ll need help at dinner.” Silence followed America's statement for a moment before a hushed exchange took place outside. 

 

“Sir,” the valet cleared his throat “I have just received word that once you are dressed Lord Kirkland asks that you present yourself at his study.”

 

“Tell him that I was coming there anyway, he doesn’t need to summon me.” He frowned at his reflection in the mirror as he messed with his tie. Purposefully leaving it messy, he walked out the door several minutes later to meet England in his study. England was sitting at his desk, chair turned away from the door. America walked over toward the bookshelves and began scanning the titles.

 

“You should announce yourself when you enter someone else's rooms.”

 

“It’s me,” America said, glancing at him side long. 

 

“Obviously.” England sighed, comparing two documents. “I've spoken with the head servant.  If you are caught using their halls and such anymore they are to escort you to the proper areas.”

 

America turned and looked at him, settling his hands in his pockets. “You want me to announce to the world that I’m constantly going in and out of your rooms?”

 

“I can’t have whispers and rumors about one of the American diplomats using the servants’ halls. They’ll take it and then it will make it to the court and then the other diplomats and soon everyone will think that you’re being forced to hide and sneak around. Then if you deny it, their suspicions of illicit activities will crop up and we shall have a bigger problem on our hands.” 

 

“So, what? We’re going to be pretending we’re talking politics at all hours? No one's gonna buy that.”

 

“Your guest room has a hall that is linked directly to my quarters. That is the only one I would ask you to use. Disappearing like you did earlier to simply go change is not necessary.” 

 

“All right.” America shrugged and went back to scanning the books. He was slightly irritated with England, but he would lose that battle if it meant winning the war. He didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve arguing.

 

England paused in shock, looking up from his papers to stare at the back of America’s head. He had been ready for a fight, and to have the other concede to something that he felt very strongly about was a surprise. The tension in his shoulders faded. He didn’t really want to have America sneaking between their rooms, personally he would have America take the main hall. He was the British Empire, who he fucked was his business and no one else had the right to comment. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” America replied. “How shall we while away the time before dinner?” He ran his fingers along the edge of one the shelves, before turning back to England.

 

“I could get some of my work done and you could find a book to read?”

 

“You’re going to work tonight? It’s Christmas tomorrow. Shouldn’t we be going to church or something?” Despite his words, America began to wander down the shelves, plucking out a recent travelogue from the shelf.

 

“We have midnight mass.”  England looked back to the papers. “Though I don’t always attend. It depends really.”

 

“Depends?”

 

“On how I feel. Or what other plans I make.” He picked the spectacles up from the desk and slid them up his nose as he slid the candle closer to better see the documents. America felt a smile tug at his lips as he dropped down on the large armchair near the fire and opened the book. He loved reading what England’s authors said about him, it was often highly amusing and totally inaccurate. The clock ticked away the time on the mantle.

 

Tapping his pen on the table, England glanced up from his paperwork to watch him. “Out of all things to choose.”

 

“I like to know what the English think of me.” 

 

England gave him a flat look. “Your ego certainly is still has big as it ever was.” 

 

“It’s not exactly a flattering portrayal.” America laughed.

 

“Well, that's what you get for prodding around.” England sighed, pulling off his glasses he pushed away from his desk. 

 

“Do you really think I’m prudish?” America asked, glancing at England from over the cover of the book. “Since, this seems to imply that’s a common thought.”

 

Standing up England rubbed at the back of his neck “Well...” he glanced at the cover of the book. “Oh...I’m guessing you read the section about the pianos, huh...” 

 

“Apparently, I faint at the sight of an unclothed leg... even if it belongs to furniture.” America laughed. “This guy should have known that New Yorker was pulling his leg.”

 

England watched him a moment before bluntly responding “You know... sometimes I would have to say the statement is not too far from its mark.”

 

Settling the book in his lap, America stared at him, disbelief on his face. “You’re not serious.”

 

Crossing his arms England gave a small shrug “Well, I am.”

 

“You’re gonna have to explain it to me then, since I have no idea what you’re talking about. I do not faint at the sight of an unclothed leg!”   
  


“I didn't say you did. The writer did. You just asked if I thought you were a prude and I said   yes. I suppose sometimes or a bit would have been more accurate.”

 

America crossed his arms. “When have I been a prude?”

 

England settled on the edge of his desk as he walked around it. “Well, I guess that... I guess prudish may not be the right word.” He shrugged again “More like... scared of anything sex-related.” 

 

Face flushing, America opened his mouth to retort. “I am not afraid... I... we did it yesterday.” The words coming out of his mouth made his face hot. 

 

England arched a brow. “Stuttering and turning red. Thank you for solidifying my statement.” 

 

“It’s not polite to talk about it,” America said, turning his head away.

 

“You, of all people, are going to talk about being polite?” He laughed, pushing away from the desk as an idea popped into his head. “Oh come on, Alfred.” He stopped in front of the chair “Are you really this nervous about it all?”

 

“I’ve been in your bed. I’m not a shrinking violet,” America replied, glancing up at him as he stood near him. “And I thought you wanted me to be more polite.”

 

“You know it's just us two in here.” A gleam lit his green eyes. “There are times to be polite and times to not be.”

 

Licking his lips, America felt the heat in his cheeks were not just from embarrassment this time. England’s gaze seemed to bore down into him. “Are you planning on giving me an etiquette lesson?”

 

“You want an etiquette lesson now?”

 

“Depends on the etiquette.” England was close enough for him to reach up and splay his hands on his waist. He was still amazed by it, that England would let him touch and not move away.

 

“You have a strange definition of etiquette,” he scoffed.  

 

“Maybe you should get out Johnson’s dictionary.” His fingers tightened on England’s waist to restrict him from pulling away.

 

“Is that really what you want me to be doing at the moment, Alfred?” he questioned, leaning closer. “When there is so much more that I could be doing?”

 

Swallowing, America said, “And what did you have in mind?”

 

“Leaving for supper soon would be the best idea,” England said straightening suddenly. Disappointment washed through America’s chest, but before he could say anything a knock came at the door. 

 

“They are here, m’lord,” the servant said poking his head into the study door. England’s face lost a bit of its color and before America could ask who ‘they’ were the door came flying open. 

 

“We’re here,  _ mo dheartháir, _ as summoned. You better have something good to eat for dinner. I brought my own whiskey since you don’t know what you’re about,” said Scotland, America only guessing as he’d never seen him in person. 

 

“Alfred?” said Colleen, poking her head out from behind Ireland’s back. She came across the room in a flurry of skirts and jumped into the chair. “You’re not dead.” 

 

America laughed. “No,” he said, giving her a hug, surprised, considering how angry she’d been the last time he’d seen her. He realized he should probably stand up and greet the rest of the United Kingdom. Hoisting Colleen up, since she refused to let go of him, he greeted the others. 

 

“I didn’t realize you all were coming,” England said flatly, crossing his arms. Any humor that he had possessed moments ago vanished, irritation taking over. 

 

“I think the Queen would have invited the entire commonwealth if she could have,” said Wales. America hadn’t seen him since his revolution, the other’s features bearing an uncanny comparison to England’s, albeit with curlier hair. “She wants us to all look like a happy family.”

 

“Which means there is going to be a photographer.” England sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Does that mean I have to be in it?” Colleen asked, her nose wrinkling. “I hate standing still for so long!”

 

“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it, Colleen.” 

 

The girl frowned at England. “I’ll just be with Alfred, your queen won’t want him in the picture.” 

 

England turned to her with hands on hips, but Scotland gave England a hearty pat on the shoulder. “It’s all right, lassie, we won’t make you stand by this stick in the mud. You can stand by me.”

 

“Hands off, Alistair.” England swatted his hand away.

 

“No need to be like that, Arthur. You want to show her Majesty that we’re all together, eh?” He grabbed England around the neck into an embrace that was half hug and half head lock. Wales and Ireland dropped onto the sofa to ignore the other two and Colleen watched with interest. 

 

“Arthur, you were going to show me that trade agreement, right?” America said, catching England’s eye.

 

England gave him a look. “What are you talking about?”

 

“The one we needed to discuss in private before dinner.” He raised an eyebrow, hoping England would take the hint that he was giving him an out if he wanted it.

 

“Ah... yes, of course.” England sighed. “We should see to that.”

 

“See Y'all at dinner,” America said, taking England by the arm and hauling him out into the hallway leaving expressions that ranged from amused to cynical in their wake.

 

“This is ridiculous!” England hissed.

 

“That your brothers arrived or that I rescued you?” America asked, a bemused expression on his face.

 

“Both.”

 

“Well, I can’t do much about either.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a sign. We could escape to another one of your palaces.”

 

“That would not go over well.” He sighed. “Let's just make it through supper and retire early.”

 

***

 

Dinner arrived and America was amused that he’d been banished to the far end of the table, the UK brothers seated farther up nearer to the royal family. The family photograph had occurred right before everyone had come into dinner and America had watched England pointedly not looking at him throughout the whole affair. 

 

The meal was long and America put away the courses while anticipating when it would be all right to get up and escape. Possibly sometime during the after-dinner drinks. As they all filtered out into the library England grabbed America's arm.

 

“Let's go.”

 

Following behind him, America kept close. England made such a weaving path through the halls, America wasn’t quite sure where they were going. 

 

Grabbing a key from his pocket as they stopped in front of a small door. Unlocking it with just a bit of a struggle the door opened to a small staircase.  “Do you need anything before we go up?”

 

“I wager we’re not coming back down? Not really.”

 

“I had Charles deliver everything I wanted upstairs.  He's the only one who has been up here beside me. I don't plan to come back down.”

 

“Did he bring something more comfortable than what we’re wearing?” he asked, plucking at his dinner jacket.

 

“Yes, I had him bring up your night clothes,” he admitted as they ascended the stairs. Coming up to another door England pushed this open with ease.  Behind the door was a small circular room. Inside a small fireplace filled the room with warmth. Stacks of books lined the walls on old book shelves and two tables were shoved up against them, one laden with silver covered trays and the other with books of legends. A large, plush pallet of blankets had been laid on the floor as far from the north facing window as possible. 

 

America looked around, walking over to one of the tables to look at the tools. Some of them were simple instruments that could have been used for a number of things, others looked completely bizarre. “What are you doing up here? Science experiments?”

 

“Not science. Arcane.” He shrugged out of his jacket and lifted one of the trays. “Oh good. Pudding.”

 

“Magic?” America gave him an incredulous look. “Isn’t that a little Middle Ages or county fairs?” America came over and examined the food.

 

“If you’re going to insult me you can take the stairs back down.” England undid his vest and grabbed a bowl.

 

America took his own. “Nah, this is a neat room though. No one’ll find us?” He dropped down onto one of the stools at the long table and began to eat.

 

“Not even Victoria comes up here.” Setting down his bowl in favor of removing everything but trousers and undershirt England heaved a sigh of relief settling on the pallet to eat.

 

Shrugging out of his coat one arm at a time, America settled into eating, fingers reaching up to loosen his tie. “It’s nice to have quiet places.”

 

“That Francis has been trying to break into for years.” He huffed.

 

“What does Francis want that’s up here?” America looked around for some kind of treasure.

 

“Just because I don't let anyone up here.”

 

America felt warmth spread through his chest. “But you let me.” He noticed that England was pointedly not looking at him, focused instead on his dessert. When England didn’t answer, he stood up, setting his bowl down on the tray. “It sure is warm in here,” he said, unhooking a few more buttons on his waistcoat.

 

“Yes, but I figured you would prefer it to be more warm than cold. It can get rather cold up here,” he muttered. Now he was uncomfortable, he hadn't realized what it meant that he let America up here until the other said so. He swallowed.  _ Shit. Victoria would not let me live this down. _

 

“I do like it.” America dropped down on the blankets and stretched.  

 

Setting his plate to the side England looked over at him. “I guess you think you are sleeping here with me?”

 

Giving England a surprised look. “You bring me to your secret room only to send me back out?” America leaned back on his hands. “Besides, you said Charles brought my night clothes.”

 

“I simply asked if you thought you were,” he said smugly. 

 

“Yes, I’ll be sleeping here with you,” America said.

 

“Ah.” England put his bowl off to the side and sprawled out next to him with a sigh of satisfaction. Glancing out the single window above them on the wall he frowned in concern as he watched the snow howl by. The snow had begun just before supper and had only increased in ferocity. It showed no signs of stopping. 

 

America rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around England’s middle. “Worried about the weather?”

 

“Yes, it's become something of a blizzard.”

 

“I’ll keep you warm.”

 

England rolled his eyes. “For the love of the Queen.” 

 

America chuckled and nuzzled the side of England’s head. “I’m sure she has opinions about this.”

 

“Of course she does.”

 

“And?”

 

“You don’t want to know”

 

“She liked me before, I’ll win her over again.”

 

“How about you focus on winning her over later.” England drawled, in no mood to discuss the discontent between America and his Queen.

 

“Well, I was planning on winning you over right now.” Shifting, he hooked the fingers of one hand into the buttons on England’s shirt, tugging slightly so they loosened further at the neck. He pressed a kiss to England’s collar bone.

 

“Cocky,” England murmured. “Don't rip my shirt.”

 

Making a noncommittal sound, America continued his work, pressing kisses up England’s neck, fingers threading through the gaps between the buttons to touch the skin of England’s chest. He teeth brushed the shell of England’s ear, causing a shiver to run across his skin.

 

“Alfred.” The name was barely out of England’s mouth before he found himself on his back against the more than generous pallet. Staring up at America, England reddened. “What are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like?” America leaned up on his elbows to look down at him.

 

“That you are leaning over me,” he replied sarcastically. The room was warm and there was only the sound of the fire and the whistling wind to fill the background of their conversation. 

 

America grinned at him, shifting so that he could hook one leg on the other side of England’s hips. “Well, I’m going to do what I was thinking of doing all through dinner while I was banished to the far end of the table.”

 

“Eating more food I presume.”

 

“Nope.” America leaned up slightly. He took England’s hands and held them against his shirt front. “I was thinking that I got sold short when I first arrived. Your hands have barely been on me since I got here.” 

 

“So you sailed across the Atlantic for sex?” England scoffed. 

 

America’s smiled dimmed. “I came to be with you for Christmas. We have spent... hell, I don’t even think we’ve gotten more than a half dozen where there wasn’t some blasted incident.”

 

“Well that's true...” he said, quietly.

 

“Then let’s try to enjoy ourselves. We’re both here, and there aren’t any incidents. I want you, do you want me?”

 

“Then stop talking.”

 

“You’re the one that started it.” Before England could reply he leaned down over England and kissed him. 

 

Returning the kiss carefully, a wicked grin crept over England’s features as a thought popped into his head. With long fingers he reached around America, dragging his fingers down the man's spine only stopping when he reached where the other’s tailbone should reside. 

 

***

 

The little thrill of nerves that always came over America when England’s hands fell on him, settled into his chest making his breath hitch with anticipation. His fingers fell on England’s shirt buttons, trying to focus on not tearing them loose as England drew up the back of America’s shirt out of his trousers, touch teasing at the base of his spine.

 

“Alfred….” England crooned, nimbly rolling down the band of America's trousers only to settle on his inner thighs.

 

America shivered, even though the room was more than warm. In the quiet of the space, it almost felt as if he could hear every beat of their hearts, just slightly out of tune, the dissonance resonating as shared rhythm never would. He swallowed as he reached the end of England’s buttons, his fingers splaying across the other’s belly.

 

“You sure about this?” He popped open America's trousers. 

 

Looking him straight in the eyes, America replied, “Yes.”

 

England grinned.  “You sure you aren't going to faint at the sight of my bare legs?” 

 

Chuckling, America leaned close to his ear. “Maybe. Or I might not be able to keep my hands off them.”

 

England took a deep breath of surprise, fingers tightening on America's trousers “Well... get on with it.” America smiled at him, shifting to press a long, slow kiss to his lips as he finished off England’s buttons and hoisted him up in order to drag it off his arms. He moved to England’s trousers, loosening the buttons of the high waist. England pushed himself further up the blankets as America took hold of the fabric and began to pull. The fabric came loose easily, his socks following until America made good on his promise that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him, fingers brushing over his skin from his thighs to calves to ankles and back again. 

 

Squirming England grabbed his hands. “Enough of that.”

 

America let England pull him forward, dropping down onto his side next to him, letting England pull his shirt off him and finish his work on his trousers. His hand settled on England’s belly, teasing the hem of his small clothes with his touch.

 

“Enough!” England snapped, slapping America’s hand away. America stared down at him, eyes open in shock. 

 

“Arthur, what-”

 

“I am not in the mood for this,” England hissed pushing at his shoulders. America’s look of surprise shifted to confusion, understanding, and then happiness. England didn’t want to play games.

 

“Oh I get it.”

 

“When do you ever get anything?” England grouched. Scowling he told America to get off, only to glare when the American stared down at him with a dopey expression. 

 

“Nah. I think right now I know what you want more than you do” America smiled.  _ ‘Finally. I was wondering, hoping. It wouldn’t take long until Arthur wanted something that I did. That he would want this at least once.’   _ Leaning forward and ignoring the indignant squawk from the British nation he pulled England into a kiss. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t demanding, it was soft and deep in all the right places. England’s body tensed beneath him, only to relax. Pliant like a dough that was finally ready. Slowly, England’s tongue met his own and America took the distraction as an opportunity to remove the last garment England had on his form. Finally. Finally no barriers, just skin on skin, sliding against each other at a lazy pace. Hands tracing the lines of England’s silhouette America pulled back for air, the sight of England panting, mouth wet from his ministrations sent a thrill through him. 

 

With long arms England pulled America down once more, hands threading through golden strands at his nape. Long fingers grasped his hips, lifting him slightly. Stifling a gasp he breathed America’s name. Draping his arms around the boy’s neck. 

 

_ ‘How did I never notice?’  _ Dragging his nose along England’s hairline he inhaled deeply, large hands moving to rub small circles against England’s lower back.  _  Dimples. England has dimples in his lower back. That's so... intimate. _ With cheeks coloring rose red he buried his face in England’s neck, spurred into kisses at England’s soft noise of approval. 

 

“Alfred,” England breathed, hands splaying down along broad shoulders as he hooked his knees around the others hips. “You’ll need to roll over” England pressed a kiss behind the other's ear where he knew a most sensitive part was. America shuddered in response, an utterance of desire interrupting the fire. 

 

Thighs quivering, America rolled them over, wheat-colored hair fanning against the pillow while flaxen strands fell to cover emerald green. America barely had time to sigh England’s name before the other pulled him into another soft kiss. 

 

***

 

It hadn't been since California that England was able to wake on his own time. Flinching against the bright morning light, enhanced by the snow still falling outside the window England yawned, back popping as he stretched among the tousled blankets of the pallet. Movement beside him alerted him to the fact that he was not the first to wake. 

 

“Merry Christmas,” America said, tightening the arm over England’s waist. He yawned, body still heavy with sleep.

 

“Happy Christmas.” He rolled to face America. 

 

His eyes were still closed, cheek pressed into the pillow. “How’d ya sleep?”

 

“Fine. It's not often I wake before you.” He reached over, brushing America's hair from his face. 

 

“Up with the sun.” America leaned into his touch, a smile on his face. 

 

“Not today it seems”

 

America yawned. “Not much sun. Too much snow.”

 

“I am very pleased. If it calms I hope to take a sleigh out.”

 

“That would be fun.”

 

“You hate the snow” England pulled the blankets up to his chin as his arms grew cold. 

 

“But I like horses and a sleigh means horses.”

 

“So you will brave the cold for horses.” He shook his head.

 

“But not yet.” America snuggled closer, tucking his face against England’s shoulder and pulling the blanket over his head.

 

England smiled slightly, patting America's head. “Still five it appears.”

 

“No reason to change what’s comfortable.” He swatted at England’s hand on his head.

 

“The irony,” England scoffed. 

 

“Only if you think about it too hard.”

 

“Not particularly.” England sighed, rolling onto his back. America followed the motion, half-sprawling on England’s chest. He protested when England made a move to scoot over.

 

“I am not allowed to get up?”

 

“Not yet. Let’s stay here a little longer.”

 

“Always demanding.” England sighed. “All right.”

 

“When we get up I have a present for you.”

 

“A gift? Whatever for?”

 

“It’s the fashion now. Even your Charles Dickens wrote about it in  _ A Christmas Carol _ ,” America said, breath warm against England’s skin.

 

“Well yes... but I didn't expect you of all people...”

 

“Why wouldn’t I get you a present?”

 

England cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Never mind” 

 

Shifting, America looked up at him. “What is it?”

 

“It's nothing.” England stared out the window, blinking several times against the bright light. 

 

“It’s not nothing. If you didn’t get me a gift you can tell me.” 

 

“It’s not that!” England hissed, scowling out the window. His expression changed from shocked to embarrassed as America turned his face with his hands. Staring into ocean blue eyes, England's angry words left him for a moment. In the morning light, America’s sleep-tousled hair appeared soft and without texture, a complete contrast from his facial expression. 

 

“What is it then?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. 

 

“You-” England scowled. “You’re infuriating.”

 

“So are you.” America leaned forward and kissed the scowl. “You used to tell me things.”

 

“America.” 

 

“England.”

 

England stared at him before roughly shoving at America's shoulders “It's blasted in America!”

 

Bursting into laughter, America smiled at him. “You did get me a present! I can’t wait to see it when I get home.”

 

England scowled. “You piss me off.” 

 

America raised an eyebrow at him. “Not all the time, though. Come on, Arthur, it’s Christmas. Be happy!”

 

“I'll be happy with a hot pot of tea and when I am not being crushed!”

 

Wrinkling his nose, America pushed England further into the mattress and gave him another kiss. Sliding off the cushions, he said, “Let’s get you some tea then.”

 

“Just pull the rope it'll ring and breakfast shall be sent up for us.” England sighed, pulling the blankets higher and rolled onto his belly, staring into the fireplace. Rubbing his fingers together he watched as the fire grew.  _ Perfect. Much warmer.  _ Humming in success, England shifted to get more comfortable.

 

Taking care of the bell pull, America picked up his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. He took a seat on the edge of the cushions and stretched out his hands toward the fire.

 

Folding his arms, England propped his chin atop them, watching America out of the corner of his eye. If someone had told him fifty years ago that he would be welcoming America into his space, he would have laughed and then stabbed them in the eye. At times, England still had to stop and convince himself that he was not dreaming. And he could not decide which fact was more perturbing. That he allowed his former colony into his bed or that he would dream about such a thing. 

 

America glanced over his shoulder, smiling when England’s eyes darted away from him. He leaned backward, his head resting on the small of England’s back. He yawned. “Next time we should do this at my place. I’ve got some nice houses in the midwest.”

 

“Get snowed in?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“I can't understand your mind.”

 

America chuckled. “Doesn’t seem to stop you trying.”

 

“Because it's infuriating!”

 

America flopped over, crawling up beside England. “Because we have different minds?”

 

“No, that's not the irritating part.” England huffed. 

 

“What then?”

 

Turning his head away England stared out the window once more. “It's just irritating.”

 

America reached out and lay his hand on England’s head. “Remember that time there was that big snowstorm in Jamestown? When I built the snow fort?”

 

“How could I not. I thought you were going to die,” England said flatly, shaking his head to remove America’s hand.

 

“Come on, it was sturdy.” America snuggled closer. “I think I could win that snowball fight this time.”

 

“As if.”  _ I would just use magic again. _ England sniffed

 

“With all the snow, we might have to test it.”

 

“Absolutely not!” England gave him a look of mortification. “To do such things at the palace would be a disaster.”

 

“Fine, next time you visit me in winter. It’s a rematch.” America pressed his nose into England’s hair, pulling away when the servant knocked before entering.

 

“Just on the table, Charles. Thank you”

 

“Of course, my Lord. Shall I have the hot water sent up for bathing?”

 

“No, that is far too much work. Just have it ready within the hour and we shall be down.”

 

“Of course.” with that statement and a bow England’s head manservant excused himself from the tower room, but not before glancing at Alfred with an unreadable expression. 

 

America looked back until the man disappeared. “What was that all about?” America asked, going over to inspect the food and picking up his own plate.

 

“He brought us food. What do you mean what was it all about? Are you going to bring the tray here?”

 

Picking it up, America brought it back to the cushions. He sat down and picked up one of the silver forks. “He was just staring at me.”

 

“Charles would never do something so rude. Are people not allowed to look at you now?” England frowned, picking up a white tea cup.

 

“People can look.” America shrugged and stabbed his fork into one of the sausages.

 

Sitting up with slight groan England took a sip. “Perfect.”

 

America chewed, watching England sip the tea as if it were the first time. He chuckled to himself and speared some eggs. “Must be some brew,” America teased.

 

“Tea always tastes good. Especially after a long night.”

 

Color tinged America’s cheeks. “A good night though.”

 

“Yes, I am very proud. You didn't faint at the sight of my legs”

 

America laughed. “Experience, you know.”

 

England snorted into his cup, turning to cough violently into his arm. “Experience, my arse” He snorted.

 

“Practice makes perfect.”

 

“Well, then you better start.”

 

“You wound me, sir,” America said, smiling at him as he reached for the small coffee pot. “Although, you’ll have to make time for me if you want me to practice.”

 

England’s nose wrinkled. “So coarse.”

 

“Too innocent and then too coarse,” America added a large spoonful of sugar to the cup. “You’re the only one so...”  

 

“Because you have to balance it.” England sniffed. “Like last night.” He turned red as he thought of last night. That wasn’t something that normally happened, like that at least. He cleared his throat. “You have barely scratched the surface.”

 

America smiled, pleased. “You enjoyed that, huh?”

 

“Shut up!” he snapped, turning his back to hide his face. He didn’t know what had come over him last night. To want such a thing was something he had never faced before. It scared him. 

 

“Not bad, right? See, I’m a quick study.”

 

England’s fingers tightened on his cup, shoulders tensing in turn. “Could have fooled me”

 

“You should see the railroad I’ve got planned. I’m gonna be all about big ideas now.”

 

England sighed,  _ way to change subjects. _ “I am sure you will tell me all about it.”

 

“When it’s done you’ll have to come ride on it. You can see the West.”

 

“If Her Majesty wishes it.”

 

“Or if you wish it. Your people are all over the place in my lands, we both know it. The queen knows it, they were even there for...” America paused, smiling dimming for a moment. He cleared his throat. “There’s a lot of commerce after all.”

 

“Yes, of course.” England rolled his cup between the palms of his hands, watching the remaining tea roll up the sides. With a silent sigh, he looked out the window. What was he supposed to do with this?

 

“Do you want to open your present?”

 

“If you insist.” England looked over his shoulder. 

 

Getting up to pad over to his discarded dinner jacket he reached into the inner pocket. Bringing it back he sat down next to England and offered the long, slim wooden box.

 

England frowned, setting down his cup. “You carried it in your pocket?”

 

“I planned on giving it to you yesterday for Christmas Eve. It’s useful, you’ll like it.” 

 

England stared at it for a moment before reaching over and taking it. “Well... thank you,” he popped off the lid. 

 

Inside the box was a wooden turned fountain pen. The design had only recently reached popularity, with new machines that made the manufacture easier. It had not quite taken over the dip pen due to the cost but were far more efficient. “My people aren’t making them too fancy yet so I had to ask someone in Birmingham, but it’s turned from wood from California.”

 

Picking it up England stared at it in awe. “Alfred…”

 

“Knew you were going to like it.” He smiled. “I figured it would be useful.”

 

“It’s gorgeous.” He smiled at the blue-eyed blond. “It’s fantastic” 

 

***

 

America felt warmth spread through his chest. He’d gone through England’s various reactions in his head. He’d been prepared for a dismissive thanks or an accusation that it was too sentimental. He had not been prepared for joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen England with an unguarded smile. The emotion flooded his chest and he turned away, reaching up to wipe at his eye. “I’m glad,” he said.

 

England lowered the pen back into its box. “I... am disappointed, however.”

 

America turned back, eyes wide. “About?”

 

“That I sent yours ahead. I shall not be there when you open it.”

 

Relief spread over him. “Too bad you won’t be able to visit or come back with me,” he replied. “I’ll send you a telegram... well if my boss hasn’t denied my privileges.”

 

“I feel you shall like it, although you won't find it as useful as I will find yours.” He closed the box and leaned up to place it on the table with a slight shiver. The air outside the blankets was much cooler and he had opted to remain in the nude while he dined. 

 

America scooted closer and gathered England back into his arms. “I’m excited to see it.”

 

“Manhandling,” he muttered but provided nothing further. “I am glad. I fretted over the design for months.”

 

“Now I’m curious,” America said. England’s skin felt cold against his own so he gathered up the blanket and pulled it over him.

 

“I am tempted to send a tutor home with you... or I shall request Matthew to come to visit you. I know Francis has been teaching him.”

 

“A tutor in what?” He could only imagine the things France had been teaching Canada.

 

“I can’t tell you for that would spoil the surprise,” England tutted.

 

“I’ll try to be patient,” America said, kissing the side of England’s head.

 

***

 

America had been reluctant to leave. The snow had obliged him, by bringing traffic in London to a grinding halt for several days. It had been bliss being in England’s arms every night. They’d played in the snow and he even helped England win the snowball fight against Scotland and Colleen, much to the other two UK brothers’ amusement.

 

In all the fun, he’d almost forgotten that England had sent his gift to his house in Washington D.C. He stepped through the door, unwinding his scarf when he could see the box sitting on his desk in the study.  It was large and rectangular, tied together with several sets of twine. The knots were unbreakable by normal standards yet with America’s strength he was able to snap them with ease. Removing the lid revealed an item wrapped in satin. Peeling back the layers America was struck with surprise. Inside of the box lay a sword, but not just any sword. America finally knew what England meant when he said he had spent much time working on the design. 

 

The scabbard was made of polished leather, stained a dark brown and from chape to locket were the carvings of roses. Picking it up carefully America pulled the sword from its scabbard, finding no resistance. The blade was crafted from gleaming steel, unblemished, perfect and as America held it up he found a solid core. 

Yet, despite the beauty of the steel it was the hilt that really spoke of workmanship. In its rain guard sat a sapphire, carved in the shape of a spade, while just above in its crossguard sat many more, smaller sapphires of the same shape. The dedication of the blacksmith continued into the tang and the grip, small roses with vines, the design identical to that of the scabbard crawled towards the pommel and the detail only increased. The pommel was blue, and carved gently as not to create too much texture, the image of a clock. It’s image nudged at America’s memory and he was suddenly reminded of the pocket watch England had pulled from his pocket on more than one occasion. Decorated with a large blue rose, and on the inside, a blue spade, even the watches hands had been little blue spades. 

 

He smiled, warmth filling his chest.


	3. A Long Time Coming

_ June 25, 1879 _

_ Atlantic, Canadian Shoreline _

 

“They both want me dead. I know it” England coughed violently into his handkerchief,  nose wrinkling in disgust when he saw the blood. Crumpling and shoving it into his pocket he watched as the shoreline became clearer, the water growing more crowded as they neared the Canadian dock. Victoria had sent him to oversee Canada's birthday celebrations and he felt like he was dying. Like he always did at this time of year. Leaning on the railing he wiped his hand over his forehead. He was feverish and nauseous. He would make it through Canada’s celebration and more than likely spend the rest of his stay bedridden. It was hellish and while he wanted to make Canada happy it made him bitter thinking that Canada had not only chosen July, but just three days before America celebrated his independence as well. It didn’t seem fair.   
  
“We shall be tying to dock within the hour!” a shout sounded from the front. England heaved a sigh and cringed as he straightened. Everything was sore, his muscles and his joints like he had been run over by a stray carriage. That meant he only had an hour to compose himself before he had to put a face on for Canada.    
  
***   
  
“I still can’t believe Arthur is letting you be independent just because you asked.” America glanced at his brother who was looking uncharacteristically pleased.    
  
“Yes, of course,” Canada replied. America laughed, knowing full well that part of England’s capitulation had to do with the old promise that he’d made to help Canada with independence if he ever wanted it. He was glad he and England weren’t going to have to be on different sides once again. “Anyway, you need to be nice, Alfred.”   
  
“I’m always nice.” America laughed. “Tell me the truth, did you pick July first just so you could celebrate your birthday three days before mine?”    
  
“I am older.”   
  
“Says who?”   
  
“Arthur.” America laughed and gave his brother a friendly shove that sent the other staggering a few steps and throwing a glare in his direction. Before much more could be said, England’s ship was pulling into port.

  
***  
  
Grabbing his walking stick and his hat England made sure Charles had their luggage and lead the way down the gangplank. He needed to lie down, he felt like he was going to faint. Looking around he found the twins and raised his hand in greeting.  
  
Being the more observant of the two, Canada was immediately at England’s side, offering him a shoulder to lean on if wanted. “Thank you for coming, Arthur, it really means a lot to me.”  
  
“Of course Matthew.” He smiled, squeezing the boys arm. “But it's been a long journey.  I would appreciate a lie-down.”  
  
“Of course, we have a carriage waiting.” They were soon making their way through the crowd of people meeting family and friends at the docks towards a simple coach. England climbed in first followed by the other two.   
  
“Can you believe that Matt had to pick three days before my birthday? It’s like he’s trying to steal my thunder.”   
  
“Alfred!” Canada scolded. “It’s when the agreement was complete! I didn’t pick it!”  
  
“Sure you didn’t.” America glanced over at England as though he wanted to include him in the joke.  
  
Rolling his eyes before closing them, England leaned his head against the carriage wall. “Find something else to bicker about.”  
  
He could feel the two pairs of eyes settle on him, no doubt reading different things in his answer. Regardless, their voices did quiet as they began discussing a timber deal, an easy enough conversation to help one fall asleep. It wasn’t until a warm hand was shaking his shoulder that he realized they’d arrived. He blinked awake to see America reaching across space. “I told Matt I could just take you inside, but he said, and I quote, ‘It would be a wound to Arthur’s pride and I won’t tolerate it during my event.’ So bossy.” America chuckled.  
  
“At least he's right,” England mumbled. America watched him for a moment and then climbed out of the carriage.   
  
“C’mon, I’ll show you your room. Matt had to go deal with something.”  
  
“I figured as much,” England murmured, removing his hat as they entered the house. Charles toted their luggage behind them.   
  
The house had recently been freshened with a new coat of paint since England had last set foot in it, as well as a new addition being added towards the back. The house had grown out of a simpler one from decades past and now had many of accouterments of a Victorian household. The wall sconces flashed cheerily, lighting the darker hallways of the house as America showed England upstairs. He opened a door to the left of the top of the stairs. “Here you go,” he said.  
  
“Thank you, Alfred.” He stepped aside as Charles moved their belongings inside. Pinching his nose in impatience, he leaned heavily on his walking stick. The hall was tilting of its own accord.   
  
“Arthur?” America watched him for a moment and then memory dawned on his face. “It’s that time of year... do you want me to stay with you?” England wobbled slightly and America caught his elbow keeping him upright.  
  
Brushing him off England shook his head “No, not in particular.”   
  
“I would have thought it was getting better, what with...” America shifted, awkwardly. “Well, I’ll be just down the hall if you need me. I’ll come see you later.”  
  
“I have no plans to bother you,” England grunted. Rooms shouldn't move on their own! Charles shouting his name was the last thing he heard before everything went black.  
  
***  
  
“Alfred, you should get some sleep. I’ve taken care of him before,” Canada said, leaning against the side of the chair America had pulled up beside England’s bed.  
  
“No, it’s... I’ve got him. You have things to get ready for your birthday. Get some sleep. I want to talk to him when he wakes up anyway.”  
  
Canada was silent for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“Who asked you?”  
  
“You know why this happens?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then you recognize that he might not want to talk to you right away?” The chair scraped on the floor as America abruptly stood up.   
  
“I’m going to go get something to eat, but then I’m coming right back.”  
  
As the door clicked shut behind him, England said. “Is he gone?”  
  
“Yes, he was worried about you.” Canada took America’s vacated seat as England shifted, blinking up at the canopy. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Yes, I heard... I'm feeling better than I was.”  
  
“Do you want me to send him away? I didn’t...” Canada pinked. “I can’t believe I forgot your illness in all the preparations.”  
  
“No, it’s fine Matthew I just wanted a moment of peace without him” he smiled.   
  
Canada offered a small smile back. “Do you need anything?”  
  
“I would not say no to something to drink. I'm parched. But other than that I am fine considering it all.” Reaching over he squeezed Canada's arm reassuringly “I didn't mean to worry you.  Apologies.”  
  
Reaching up, Canada gave his arm a gentle squeeze in return. “I’ll fetch you some tea. I can try and distract Alfred if you want some more rest.”  
  
“No.” He shook his head. “Otherwise he will just pout.”  
  
Canada inclined his head, unable to protest America’s personality. “I’ll let him come back in, then. He’s likely down in the kitchens amusing the cook.”  
  
“All right.” He smiled “I shall find you later. Don't think I forgot my promises just cause I'm ill.”  
  
“Of course.” Canada drifted around the corner and it didn’t take long for America’s thunderous footsteps to be heard on the stairs.   
  
“I heard you were awake,” he said, looking slightly ruffled. England had propped himself up with pillows and was reading a book when he entered the room.  
  
“As you can certainly see. That is the truth.” England nodded, not bothering to look up.   
  
America walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were out for hours.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Arthur...” He frowned and leaned over, snuggling his way until his head bumped under one of England’s arms like an overly large cat. “You can’t just faint in front of me and then act like it’s nothing.”  
  
“What do you want me to do about it?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“I can’t do anything about it, Alfred.” He looked up at the blue-eyed blonde. “There is nothing for it. And you of all people are the last person I want to hear complaining about it.”   
  
“I’m not complaining. I just want to help.”  
  
“There's nothing you can do.”  
  
“Nothing is impossible.”  
  
England snorted “Jump into the ocean and see how long it takes you to start breathing underwater then.”  
  
“I’ll just borrow that diving helmet Germany invented,” America answered.  
  
With a roll of his eyes, England turned back to his book. “Whatever pleases you, I suppose.”  
  
A knock at the door signaled Canada’s return and America scooted toward the foot of the bed, settling his back against one of the posts. Canada gave him a sidelong glance. He went about preparing the tea for England.  
  
“Thank you, Matthew.” England took the cup with a nod “So, what is the plan?”  
  
“Well, there will be the formal signing and a state dinner on the first,” said Canada. “Then I thought it would be appropriate for there to be a dinner for the nations the next day so they can formally recognize my new status.”  
  
England cringed slightly and tried to mask it with a cough. “Sounds reasonable.”  
  
“I can defer the other dinner... until you are feeling better...” Canada said, voice growing softer.  
  
“There’s only one nation he wants recognition from anyhow,” America said, humor in his voice. Canada immediately turned scarlet.   
  
“The invitation has not been acknowledged.”  
  
“Only because he wants to make a grand entrance.” Canada turned to glare daggers at his twin.  
  
“Alfred, stop being a pest.” England scowled then turned back to Canada “No. No. Don't change anything.”  
  
“I don’t want you to overexert yourself...” As if he could sense America’s retort before it happened Canada shoved him, causing America to laugh. “You said you wouldn’t try to be the center of attention!”  
  
“Then be more attention-grabbing. You have to show Arthur he didn’t make a mistake letting you be independent.”  
  
England’s expression hardened and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them “Matthew’s reach for independence isn’t what forces me to vomit blood and riddles me with immense pain for weeks every year. I think he's doing it quite fine.”  
  
Silence immediately descended on the room. Canada froze like one of them was a powder keg and the other a spark, afraid that any movement would cause an explosion. America looked at England as though he’d stabbed him. His expression hardened in return. He got up from his seat, jaw tight and not looking at the other two. “I have my own party to plan, I’ll be back for yours, Matthew.” With that, America left the room. The front door slamming shut behind him vibrated through the house.  
  
“Yes, I know I presented the truth harshly and I will apologize for how I presented it when he comes back,” England said flatly, looking to Canada.   
  
Canada was fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “He’s doing his best. He was surprised by my announcement, he thought for sure he was going to have to do something since I wanted independence... He hasn’t always been the easiest neighbor or brother for that matter... but... I think he’s upset that you are coming to my birthday and you have never attended his... It’s not that your reasons aren’t valid, they are... he’s just... he’s doing his best.”  
  
“And he needs to face the fact that his actions have repercussions, this being one of them. I did not have to allow him back into my life and yet I did. But this is something that cannot be forgotten. Even if we wanted to. There are days during this time of the year where I cannot even get out of my own bed, and that is because of those actions. And he needs to understand that... just because I have allowed a friendship does not mean I am ready to forgive him. Every year, I am physically hurt because of those actions. Even the most saint-like of nations wouldn’t remain entirely grudge-free.”  
  
“I’ve already said too much, it’s not my place to say anything else...” Canada wrapped his arms around himself. “Do you need anything else?”  
  
England sighed, rubbing at his temple “Every time…” setting his tea down and closing his book he pulled the covers off. “Let us see your lessons then shall we?”  
  
“Are you certain you feel well enough?”  
  
England shook his finger at him “Do not think this illness is going to save you because you slacked on your studies, Matthew.”  
  
Canada blushed. “I’m not trying to avoid your lessons, Arthur.”  
  
“I didn’t say you were trying to avoid them. I said you slacked on your studies. Am I correct?” Pushing himself carefully out of the bed England made sure the room stayed in one spot.  
  
“I endeavored to study when possible.”  
  
England gave him a look “So no you haven’t been keeping up”  
  
Canada sighed. “No.”  
  
“You can’t lie to me, Matthew.” England crossed his arms. “Nice try, however.”  
  
“Where did you want to practice?”  
  
“Your shield needs work... so I will be launching items of considerable girth your way... So, I suggest outside.”  
  
Canada didn’t look convinced that England was well enough to move, but he fetched his walking stick and helped him down the stairs. There was a wood at the end of the road and Canada hovered near England’s elbow until he waved him off to go to the other end of the small meadow.  
  
“Do so pay attention, Matthew. I don’t want you hurt... and you don’t want to attend your celebrations in a sling.”  
  
***  
  
America considered not going, but that wouldn’t have been fair to Canada. He’d promised his brother he would be there and he wasn’t going to break a promise just because England was acting the wounded party.   
  
“What is wrong? I haven’t seen you this dower since you were a colony,” France glanced at him across the carriage. America sighed. He wasn’t really in the mood to explain himself to France.  
  
“What about you? Trying to make it up to Matt? What happened between you two anyway?” France cleared his throat and looked out the carriage window. “Be careful, Francis, I might have to defend Matt’s honor.” He laughed at the look France threw him.  
  
“ _Oui_ , that would be something to see. I am surprised you are not spending time with Arthur, I heard you had quite the interlude when you were last in London.”  
  
“How do you know about that?!”   
  
“When are you going to accept that I know everything?” France teased, flipping his hair over his shoulder. They would eventually be making their way to the capital for the state dinner, but first, they arrived at Canada’s house. America made his way up the front walk first to knock on the door and was surprised when Canada answered it himself instead of a butler.   
  
“What’s wrong?” America asked, seeing Canada’s frazzled expression.  
  
“It’s Arthur...” His gaze settled over America’s shoulder and he knew his brother had caught sight of France. Canada’s expression darkened for a moment and then he went back into the house, leaving the door wide open to the other two.   
  
“Wait, what about Arthur?” America said, following him up the stairs.  
  
Charles stood in front of the door to England's guest room with an irritated expression.  The man's irritation only increased when he saw America, looking away sharply he turned to Matthew “Master Williams...he just woke up and said that he was going regardless. He won't listen to me.”  
  
Canada brushed past the man and went into the room, closing the door behind him. America walked forward, but the manservant tried to stop him. “Get out of the way.”  
  
“Absolutely not, Master Jones. I am in charge of Lord Kirkland's health and right now I find you to be of ill effect on him.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you. You know that you can’t actually stop me.”  
  
“And I know you won't risk upsetting Lord Kirkland or causing an international incident by harming me.” Charles glared back at him.   
  
“Did he say I couldn’t see him?”  
  
Charles hesitated. “No... but more visitors... especially of a certain kind may prove more harmful than good.”  
  
“Go and ask him.”  
  
“He currently is dealing with Master Williams. It shall have to wait.”  
  
America huffed and stepped away. By this point, France was coming up the stairs. “Is Arthur being dramatic?”   
  
“Lord Bonnefoy.” Charles nodded in France’s direction. “My master is ill as I am sure you are well aware given the time of year.”  
  
“I have business with Mr. Williams, if you’ll excuse me, Charles.” France walked forward and his hand closed on the doorknob.  
  
“As long as it does not cause my master any distress.”  
  
“Of course not.” France flashed America a smile and disappeared into the room. Stepping back in front of the door Charles stared at America.  
  
***  
  
“Your manservant is rather loyal, Arthur. He won’t let dear Alfred in,” France announced as he entered.  
  
Looking around Canada, England groaned. “But somehow he let you in.” He scowled, flinching as Canada placed a damp cloth on his forehead.   
  
“I’m not the one causing you distress according to Charles. Poor Alfred is pacing the hallway.”  
  
England chuckled and coughed violently. “I highly doubt he is pacing.”  
  
France shrugged. “No, but I suggest you either admit him or pull yourself together to avoid any awkward scenes.”  
  
“I'm here for Matthew, not Alfred.”  
  
“Exactly, and here you are laying abed when you should be preparing to celebrate his accomplishment.”  
  
“How about you fuck off, Francis.”  
  
France crossed his arms and leaned on the bedpost. “If you are in need of a nursemaid... I volunteer my services.” He gave England a challenging smile.  
  
England stared at him. Matthew was in the room with him. “Fuck off.”  
  
France raised an eyebrow at England and turned to look at Canada who was studiously not looking at him. “Mathieu, you do not need to do that.”  
  
“I owe Arthur.”  
  
“Since Arthur insists it is Alfred that caused it, should not he be cleaning up the mess?”   
  
“Francis, none of this concerns you.”  
  
“Really now, Arthur?”  
  
“Yes.” England sat up sharply, causing a coughing attack. “Stop causing problems at such a time!” he wheezed.   
  
“You are being unfair to both boys,” France said, changing to Old Frankish, so only England could understand.  
  
“How so!?”  
  
“This one should be celebrating his new status but is taking care of you. The other would like to try, but you deny him.”  
  
“I am not making him do anything! I have told him more than once to leave me be and yet he stays! And America was the one who stormed out”  
  
“What else is he supposed to do? Apologize? You’ll be waiting for eternity if that’s what you are waiting for.” He turned to look at Canada, switching back to French. “Go and fetch your brother, please.”  
  
“I am not waiting for anything!” England snapped.  
  
“You are, just no one knows what it is you are waiting for.” Canada got up slowly and went to the door. He went through it and did not return quickly.  
  
“Look what you did!” he hissed, curling up as he coughed violently.  
  
France sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you really not know what causes it? I have seen no one else suffer the way you are suffering over losing control of another nation.”  
  
“You think if I knew I wouldn't have found a remedy?” he hissed.   
  
France raised an eyebrow. “You always did like your potions.” He sighed. “Mathieu cannot be left to pick up your pieces when it comes to Alfred every time.”  
  
“I have not asked Matthew for anything! I simply informed him I would rest outside of large events.”  
  
“He’s always been concerned for the rest of us. Did you really think he wouldn’t take care of you?”  
  
England flopped back against the pillows in exhaustion. “I am so sick of arguing with you.”  
  
France’s mouth thinned. “There is no arguing with stone.” He stood up and went to the door. “Ah, Alfred, Mathieu. Arthur has said he wants to sleep, I think we should give him space to do so.”  
  
With a sigh, England turned his back to the door. He still had hours until the formal celebrations began. There was no need for him until then.  They could all do what they wanted.   
  
The door shut, but England could hear steps on the bedroom floor. The mattress creaked as someone put their weight on it. America pressed up against his back, wrapping an arm around him.  
  
“I was just about to send for more blankets.” England yawned.   
  
“You’ve got me.”  
  
“At least you're warm... why aren't you with Matthew? “  
  
“He wanted to talk to Francis. I told him I’d see him before dinner. I promised him I’d help you get ready too.”  
  
“I can get myself ready.” England scowled.  
  
“I know, but it made him feel better. Didn’t you want to sleep before the event?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then sleep, I’ll wake you when it gets closer to when we need to get ready.”  
  
Groaning at the movement, England peered suspiciously over his shoulder at America “Why are you being so nice? What are you playing at?”  
  
“Gotta make sure you don’t die on me.”  
  
England snorted “With the way you stormed out a couple days ago I would have thought that was your preference,” he wheezed before coughing violently into his blankets.   
  
“I’ve never wanted you dead, even when I've been furious with you,” he said. “Anyway, it’s Matt’s party and I’m happy for him. I’m not going to be mad at you right now.”  
  
“That sounds like a plan.” England pulled the blanket away from his mouth, cringing when he saw red staining white. Tucking the blanket inside itself he rolled onto his back despite the confinement.   
  
“Yep, so get some rest.” America shifted, England’s head coming to rest against his shoulder.  
  
“Bedside manner needs work,” England murmured, falling asleep almost immediately.   
  
***  
  
America heard the clock chime, it drew him out of his thoughts. England was a dead weight against his shoulder, his body warm. He hadn’t been coughing, although he’d tossed more than once. His brow furrowed in his sleep as America nudged him gently. “It’s time to get ready,” he said.  
  
“Terrible timing,” England grunted, blinking groggily at him.   
  
“Blame the clock. You have a good dream or something?”  
  
“Not in particular.” England yawned. “Nightmares this time of year normally”  
  
America was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. “We should get ready.”   
  
“Yes...” England made little effort to move for a moment before pushing himself up to sitting. “The gifts should be set up by now.” He coughed into his hands, shoving the blankets down slowly. “You can go tell Matthew you did your job, I suppose.”   
  
Leaning up, America rested his chin on England’s shoulder. “I can wait if you still need me.”  
  
At America’s wording, England tensed “Are you going to yell or something?”  
  
“I told you, I’m not going to be mad at you today.”  
  
“Can’t we just get it over with?” England sighed. “I'll even apologize for telling the truth.”  
  
“Later.” America moved away from him, standing up stiffly. “Have your manservant come get me if you need me.”   
  
Reaching out England grabbed his sleeve. “Alfred.” America stared at the hand on his sleeve. “Alfred...I apologize for the way I said it. I have not been feeling well”  
  
“But you still meant it.” America shrugged out of his grip. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. We need to get ready for dinner.”  
  
“Of course I meant it! You know as well as everyone else why I get so sick this time of year.”  
  
“And I asked for independence and you sent soldiers to make sure I didn’t have it,” he said, voice tight. He could feel the hurt and anger creeping back into his chest. “I’m going.” He walked away before England could respond.  
  
***  
  
“And the exotic birds?”  
  
“Yes, sir, in their cages and ready to be presented to Master Williams.”  
  
“And the medals?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“I wanted to fashion him a blasted sword, but Francis beat me to it!”  
  
“But you have the gifts for him personally at a later time, yes?”  
  
“Of course, Charles.” England's whispers turned into a sigh. There was no real reason for them to whisper.  The hall was packed and loud as everyone mingled, waiting for supper to be called. England watched them from a chair pressed against the wall. There were many people here to join in the celebration. _Nasty, awful word to use to describe this whole debacle,_ England had raged earlier.   
  
America’s laughter could be heard from across the room. He’d plastered himself to Canada’s side and hadn’t even thrown a glance in England’s direction. The North American twins were currently in conversation with some humans who appeared to already be a few glasses into the liquor for the evening.  
  
Dinner was called and England found himself seated near Canada across the table from America. The wood was a wide expanse which meant that they would have to speak rather loudly to be able to speak to each other.   
  
Fanning himself England waved for his plate to be taken. He didn't trust his stomach this evening. Picking up his glass of wine he watched America over the rim with a frown.  
  
America was chatting animatedly with France who seemed to only be giving him half an ear. Curious that Canada hadn’t placed him closer. America glanced at him, his eyes darting away immediately, the smile a little dimmer.  
  
Heaving a sigh England downed the glass, throwing an impatient glare at the servant with the wine.  He would have a couple drinks, have the gifts presented, and turn in.   
  
***  
  
The dinner passed on to other celebrations and America decided he probably should have stopped drinking an hour ago. He had left Canada with one last congratulation and had been genuinely happy for him when the other smiled back. Taking the carriage, he had intended to go back to his rooms at the house. Instead, he was standing outside of England’s door, fingers rapping on the wood.  
  
“It's cold,” England muttered before clearing his throat. “It's open.”  
  
America pushed the door open and kicked off his shoes. He flopped down on the bed.  
  
“Alfred, what are you doing?” England snapped, rubbing at his temples as a headache flared.  
  
“I don’t know.” It was the honest answer.  
  
England sighed and rolled back over. “You’re drunk.”  
  
“I guess so.” He snuggled against England’s back, pressing his face between his shoulder blades and wrapping his arms around his middle.  
  
“You're going to regret this in the morning,” he said quietly.   
  
“Probably,” came the muffled reply.  
  
“Are you sure this is wise?” He turned to face America.  
  
“Nope.” America took the opportunity to press his face in the crook of England’s neck. “I want to make you feel better.”  
  
England's already fever pink cheeks darkened. “You don't make any sense.”  
  
“That’s probably the bourbon.”   
  
“Alfred…” England sighed. “You're going to be hungover…”  
  
“Don’t lecture me.” He ran his nose up along England’s jaw. England’s skin was sweaty and he was warm, far warmer than usual. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“I'm simply stating a fact.” He turned his head to cough. America hummed a noncommittal sound. He felt heavy and it was comfortable pressed up against England, he yawned. “Go to sleep then,” England murmured.  
  
“I am,” he said, sighing and settling in. “Let me...” his voice trailed off and sleep took him.  
  
***  
  
When England woke next it was because he was hot. It was far too hot, his nightgown stuck to him with sweat. “Thirsty,” he croaked, only to be startled by movement beside him. “Alfred?”  
  
“What?” The voice was groggy.  
  
“It's hot... you’re too close.”  
  
“It’s July... of course it’s hot...” A shift and space opened up between them.  
  
“Very hot.” England blinked against the slivers of moonlight on the bed. There was enough light in the room for him to make things out. And they were spinning. “Dammit,” he groaned.   
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“It's hot.” He pushed at the blankets impatiently. Everything was damp. He closed his eyes as the spinning made him nauseous.   
  
America sat up, blinking at him. His face looked pained, the inevitable hangover making him sluggish. “I’ll get you some water.” He pushed his way over to the edge of the bed and walked over to where a pitcher had been left along with a cup.  
  
“Matthew.”  
  
Pausing, America fiddled with the handle of the pitcher. “What?”  
  
England pulled at his nightgown, maneuvering just enough to shrug it over his head. The last sheet pooling on his hips “Where is he?” England sighed, flopping back against the pillow in relief. Suddenly he was cold, a violent shiver running up his spine. He curled in on himself moments later, reaching for the discarded blankets.   
  
“In his room, I’d guess. I’m here, what do you need?” America brought the water over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re burning up!”  
  
“Of course I am. I've had a fever since yesterday.” He shuddered, opening one eye to glance at the water cup. He didn’t know if he’d be able to keep it down.   
  
Going back to the water, America reached for one of the cloths and dampened it. He brought it back and began pressing it to England’s skin.   
  
With a flinch, England attempted to push America’s hands away. “It’s cold,” he protested.   
  
“It’s the fever talking. Gotta cool you down before warming you back up again.”  
  
“Alfred, it’s cold and you’re not helping,” England muttered, closing his eyes, hoping the pounding in his head would go away.   
  
The cool cloth was pulled away. “What do you need?”  
  
“Death sounds rather pleasant right about now.” He groaned. “It's so damn cold.”  
  
A sigh and England could hear clothes rustling behind him. The bed sank and America wrapped his arms around him again, pressing the bare skin of his chest against England’s back.  
  
“Not tonight,” England croaked.  
  
“It’s warmer this way, you said you were cold. I’m not trying anything.”  
  
“Don’t hate me tomorrow,” England whispered, pressing his face into the pillow. He hated this. He always got more emotional when he was sick.   
  
“I don’t hate you.”  
  
“You hated me a couple days ago and then earlier this evening.” England sniffed “And years ago.”   
  
“I’ve never hated you. I was angry a few days ago... you hurt me. Years ago... I was angry and scared.”  
  
“Everybody hates me... everybody hates the black sheep of Europe.” He groaned, rolling onto his back.   
  
“You are pretty good at scaring everyone off.”  
  
“Fuck off,” England snapped, opening his eyes to glared tiredly at the other blond.   
  
“You said not tonight.” America chuckled and winced at his headache. “You’re not scaring me off.”  
  
“You deserve a headache. What were you thinking about drinking that much at your brother's party.” He coughed violently.   
  
“I wasn’t the only one. It’s Matt’s fault.” He reached behind him for the water cup. “You should try and drink something.”  
  
“I’d rather not.”  
  
Taking a sip of the water for himself before setting the cup back down, America settled against the pillows. He smoothed England’s hair off his forehead. “Want to try for some sleep again?”  
  
“If you stop talking,” he murmured and England tried to let sleep take him. America ran his fingers over his cheek and along the line of his neck. England pressed closer and lay his head on his shoulder. America held him.  
  
The last words England heard were, “Feel better tomorrow.”  
  
***  
  
It was Alfred moving around that woke England this time. With a small noise of discontent England winced. It must be getting closer to the fourth,  his chest was starting to hurt. “Alfred.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” The sound of water being poured and then gulped. England blinked at him and could see America’s back as he sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
“You are still here…”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“I just thought you would be gone,” he murmured, rolling over.  
  
“Nope, I’m still here.” He leaned back, his head resting on the blankets over England’s stomach, his glasses askew. He touched England’s cheek. “You don’t look as feverish today.”  
  
“Give it some time it will return full force. It only gets worse until the... the fourth.”  
  
“Guess that means you’re still not going to come to my birthday, huh?” America let his fingers drop away and stared up at the bed canopy.  
  
“Considering I spend it comatose for the entire twenty-four hours. No.”  
  
America turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Really?”  
  
“Why would I lie about something like that?”  
  
“I figured you just ignored the invitations I’ve been sending you more recently. My boss wouldn’t let me invite you before... but then we were doing better and...”  
  
“Well, I don't respond no... but I go to sleep the night of the third and wake up the fifth.”  
  
“You haven’t been awake on my birthday, ever?”  
  
“Not since... then.” England gathered the blankets around himself. Everything ached, his head pounded and it was difficult to breathe through his nose.   
  
America rolled over and scooted up closer to him, leaning on his shoulder. “I hope you make it someday.”  
  
England tensed but said nothing. He didn't exactly share the same sentiment. “I think I'm going to go back to sleep.”  
  
“Sleep well.” When England woke again, America was gone. Just a note. _Went to Matt’s party. I’ll come see you._  
  
England's stomach lurched, and this time not with nausea. _I am late for Matthews party!_ Yanking off the blankets, England all but fumbled to the floor. _How could Alfred just go without waking me!? I came all the way across the world for this!_ Grabbing at his clothes, England breathed heavily in exhaustion as he began to dress. He barely noticed Charles poking his head in, only to rush away.  
  
***  
  
“Where is everybody?” America asked, Canada glancing up from where he was straightening the spoon on a punch bowl.   
  
Canada sighed. “I believe there was some sort of incident amongst some of the other nations that had come and I think everyone else is planning on being fashionably late.”  
  
“Maybe you forgot to send out the invitations or wrote down the wrong time.” Canada looked suddenly panicked. “I’m just kidding you.”  
  
“I heard you stayed with Arthur last night.”  
  
“I was drunk.”  
  
“I don’t really remember...”  
  
“Well, I think you drank more than I did.” America laughed.  
  
“Anyway... how sick is he?”  
  
“He went hot and cold, and he told me that he’s been unconscious on my birthday ever since the declaration... is that true?”  
  
“I wasn’t always with him... I’m worried about him.”  
  
“He’ll come.”  
  
“Do you think he’s happy about this?” Canada looked unsure.   
  
“It’s a little late to be worrying about it. He gave you independence didn’t he?” Canada fiddled with the food trays for a moment. “Hey, folks are showing up. Be happy! You’re independent now, well at least more than you used to be.”  
  
Canada threw him one last look and then made his way toward the guests. America heard a voice clear behind him. It was Charles, England’s manservant. “If you could accompany me, Mr. Jones,” Charles said flatly a look of panic masked by displeasure. “If you would hurry along, you've caused a bit of a disturbance and I request that you fix it.”  
  
America was confused, but he made his way after him to England’s room.  
  
“Excuse my forwardness, Master Jones, but her Majesty ordered me to speak plainly with you... leaving Master Kirkland alone after forcing your way into his bed last night was most inconsiderate”  
  
“I was going to come see him. He was resting!”   
  
“You know how he hates being late and yet you left him to sleep. Although, I shoulder part of the blame for trusting that you would wake him”  
  
“He’s not late! The event barely started...” He hurried past the man and went into the room. “Arthur, it’s all right. You haven’t missed anything.”  
  
America heard swearing behind him before Charles pushed him aside roughly. “I figured it would happen early this year.” Half dressed, England was propped against the writing desk, using one hand to carry his weight. His other hand clasped over his mouth, wet with tears from watery eyes, and from blood pushing its way through the cracks in his fingers. The front of his white shirt was spattered and it looked as if the housemaids would have to pay strong attention to the carpet. Green eyes slowly fixated on America before focusing on Charles who grabbed a washcloth. “Change of plans, Master Jones, your presence is no longer needed.”  
  
America’s eyes widened, shock coursing through him. “What’s happening?” He felt like he was in a daze as he came forward ignoring Charles’s glare. “Arthur, you’ll be all right...” He caught England in his arms as he fell, not worrying as blood dripped onto the sleeve of his dinner jacket.  
  
Grabbing the cloth from Charles and pressed it against his mouth as another round of coughing took over. He glared at America through watery eyes.  
  
The look England was giving him transported him nearly a hundred years ago to a rainy day where he tried to reach out and England had nearly shot him for it. He wasn’t going to let go of him this time. Placing his free hand on America's chest, England pushed him away, struggling to his feet, glaring at Charles who moved forward to help him. Grabbing the desk, he hoisted himself to standing.  
  
“I need a change of clothes and something to wash up with. Now,” he barked, lowering the cloth from his face, mouth, and chin stained red.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” America asked. He was at a loss, completely unsure what to do.  
  
“I'm late to a party, so I should be getting ready.” he snapped, coughing again into the cloth. “Charles, hurry with the new clothes!”  
  
America came forward, catching England as he lost his balance. He took the cloth from the table and tried to help, but England pushed his hand away. “Arthur...”  
  
“Why are you even here?”  
  
“Charles came to get me. I want to help you.”  
  
“You let me sleep through and you know how I hate being late!” He tossed his clothes off and snatched the clean ones.  
  
“And as I told you, you aren’t late! And what are you going to do, slump in a chair? Hold still.” He grabbed the shirt out of England’s hands and held it up so the other could thread his arms through.  
  
“I will do as I've always done.” He yanked the shirt down. “As I have for centuries. Stand alone and remind those who forgot what it means to respect the British empire!”  
  
“You’re not alone.”  
  
England snorted “I have always been and will always be.” He buttoned his new trousers. “And I am quite content.”  
  
America had picked up the tie, but he tossed it to the dressing table near England’s arm. He tried to keep to his promise, but annoyance rose in his gut. “You are so full of shit.”  
  
England paused, grabbing the back of the chair before staring hard at America. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You’re only alone because you won’t let anyone stand beside you. They have to be underlings or enemies, nothing else.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to push the convoluted feelings about England that had grown even more complicated over the last few decades. “Or bed warmers.” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter.  
  
“Or maybe because I haven't found anyone good enough.” He reached for his tie and began to put it on.  
  
“Or you won’t let anyone try.” Gritting his teeth, America pushed the emotions far down, it made his stomach hurt. He wrestled the tie once again from England’s hands and began to fix the knot that England’s unsteady fingers had mangled.  
  
England snorted. “Someone has to try first.” He turned his head to cough into the washcloth.  
  
“And here I was hoping things were changing...” America mumbled. He still doesn’t see. America finished off the knot on England’s tie. So much had happened since that day in the rain, but England seemed stuck there unwilling to see his side. He stepped away, clearing his throat and not looking at him. “I’m going back to Matt’s party, I guess you’ll be there soon?”  
  
With a sigh, England lowered the cloth. “What now?”  
  
“What do you mean, what now?”  
  
“You are obviously upset. What have I done now?”  
  
“If you want to be timely for Matt, we can’t do this right now.”  
  
“Talk.”  
  
“Why ask when you don’t want to hear the answer?”  
  
“Because I can say I tried.” England coughed, shrugging into his jacket.   
  
“One day, you’re going to see me as an equal. Then we can have this talk.”  
  
England straightened,  leveling him with a look. “I barely consider Francis an equal. You will have to do something pretty fucking amazing.”  
  
America gave him a challenging grin. “Keep an eye out, Arthur, I’m just getting started.”


	4. Save a horse ride a cowboy

_ May 1887 _ _  
_ _ London, England _   
  
America patted the letter in his pocket as he walked up and down the deck of the steamship looking out at the blue ocean. Just beyond the horizon would be the British Isles and once they passed Ireland he would be arriving in London. He’d made this crossing more times than he could count now, but few of them had been particularly pleasant. With a few exceptions, when England and he weren’t fighting over something, he wanted to make this visit count. Despite how vague and sparse England had been in his letter, America could tell he was looking forward to the event.    
  
Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show had made splashes all across the east coast. It was fun and exciting, but not quite altogether real. William Cody wasn’t too concerned about that. People wanted a story, not the truth. America decided there were bigger things to worry about. After all, people told stories about the past all the time. He knew they weren’t true, but sometimes the story was better than the reality. Although, America mused, sometimes the truth was far more interesting than the story.   
  
At any rate, England had invited him. And he seemed excited about the show.   
  
As the ship came into the harbor, America could see bystanders hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the famous Wild West heroes for whom Bill’s marketing had done wonders. “Never thought I’d see a place like this,” came a young woman’s voice. America turned to smile at Annie Oakley.   
  
“I never did either.” She raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned at her. “It’s going to be great. You can show the English that they don’t know anything about trap shooting.” She smiled back and they watched as they pulled into port. America could hear people going below to get the horses ready to be unloaded.    
  
The Wild West had come to London and America couldn’t be more excited about it.

 

***  
  
“Absolutely absurd” England muttered, peering at the papers that dictated the events for that afternoon. Pulling his glasses down his nose he looked to the two contractors hovering about him. “Americans” he shook his head. The words were barely out of his mouth before a loud and overly familiar voice bellowed his name.  
  
“Arthur!” America said, bounding up to him. “This is gonna be a real lally-cooler of an event.”  
  
“A what?” he deadpanned, stepping back as if he was afraid he was going to catch something. “You sound mental.”  
  
“A success! Everyone seemed really excited to watch us unload. Are you coming to opening night?”  
  
England shook his head. “I don't think so. I really do have a lot of work to do.” It was only a partial truth. Sure he had work, but he didn’t want America to know that he’d been devouring reviews and news of the show. It had captured the imagination of the public.  
  
“Come on, Arthur! You’ll miss my performance.”  
  
England sighed and waved off the contractors to give his full attention to America. Crossing his arms, he eyed the younger blonde. “You are performing?”  
  
“Yep. You’ll have to come to the show to see it though.”  
  
“What shall you be doing?”  
  
“It’s a secret.” America grinned.  
  
England sighed, rubbing at his temple before tucking the folder under his arm. “I take it you have preparations to do.”  
  
“Yeah, I gotta make sure Patriot is happy in his stable.”    
  
England perked in interest. “Really? You brought a horse?”   
  
“Of course, there’s quite a few with us actually. Do you want to see ‘em? I’ll give you a backstage tour.”  
  
England hesitated but nodded. “Yes. I think I would like that.”  
  
“We could go now, although it’ll probably be a lot of hustle and bustle since stuff is being unloaded. You could come back in a few hours, things’ll have quieted down.”  
  
England nodded. “Perhaps.” He looked back at the two men who were waiting. “I do need to go speak with the constable about everything for the evening.” He nodded.   
  
“I’ll meet you here around six? That’ll give me time to get things settled.”  
  
“I suppose so.” He nodded and tapped the brim of the hat to America before leaving. America watched him go and hurried back into the mass of performers to help get things set up.  
  
***   
  
America yawned as he leaned against the fence of the show arena. Things had grown quiet, people wandering off to sleep or to go explore. He hoped nobody would get into too much trouble. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, tilting his hat back so he wouldn’t be tempted to sleep on his feet. He could hear someone coming and leaned up. “Howdy,” he said.  
  
“Alfred. Hello.” England came down the stairs, clutching the handrailing.  
  
America waited for him at the bottom. “Ready to see the horses?” He’d foregone his coat and was informally dressed, his sleeves rolled up his elbows.   
  
“So your people really have gotten into the western thing, huh?” He stopped on the last step so their eyesight was level.  
  
America smiled at him, taking a step closer. “We invented the ‘western thing’. It’s not exactly accurate... but it’s fun. Your city kids have been trying to catch a glimpse of us all day.”   
  
England rolled his eyes. “Well, are you going to show me the horses or not?”  
  
“‘Course, c’mon.” He waved a hand and started off through the arena. England followed, and America felt a little thrill of excitement. The curiosity of the people energized him and he couldn’t wait to show off. The stables were behind the arena, ropes, and wood keeping the horses in their place. Some Texas Longhorn cattle snuffled in their sleep. As they got closer, the horses lifted their heads, ears flicking in question. America stopped at one paint horse, the splotches of color in white and brown. He patted the stallion on the nose. “This one is mine. He’s a mustang.”  
  
“Patriot, right?” England asked as he held up a hand.  
  
“Yeah, he used to be wild, but he likes me.” The horse extended its nose to sniff England’s hand.   
  
Stroking the horse's nose England smiled, moving along to his neck. “Too bad you can't bring him to the castle.”  
  
“He’d probably make a stir. There seems to be a lot of poor opinions towards horses like him. Even back home... but I like the wild horses.”   
  
“No, but he could be a great stud.” England moved into the stall, running his hands over his withers.   
  
“He can be a rogue with the mares.” America laughed. The horse shook his mane. One of the other horses leaned over and sniffed England’s sleeve. “You’ll see him at his best if you come to my show.”  
  
“Lily could handle him.” England countered.  
  
“Lily, isn’t she kind of old now? She was pretty, but not exactly a breeding mare now.”  
  
“Offspring down the line.”  
  
“Ah, well, we could always see if they like each other. It’s a limited engagement though. Mr. Cody has shows planned all over.”  
  
“She’s near in heat.” He turned and looked at America.  
  
“Like I said if he likes her.” He leaned on the side of the stable and offered England a grin. “Like American stallions, huh?”  
  
England arched a brow. “Honestly?”  
  
America laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I’ll bring him to your stable if you want. After we put on a show of course. He’ll get distracted otherwise.”  
  
“Makes sense.” He exited the stall, patting the stallion one last time.  
  
“Do you have time to see some more or do you have to hurry back to Her Majesty?”   
  
“I have time to do some more.” England shot him a look. “Don't be rude.”  
  
“Just making sure.” America led him through the horse stalls, stopping to point a few more particularly handsome horses. They wandered through the set pieces containing tepees and facades of buildings. Next, they wandered through the clothing, brightly colored and beaded. Playfully, America picked up a hat and dropped it on England’s head, peering at him thoughtfully.  
  
“Whatever was that for?” England scowled, grabbing the brim to push it back.  
  
“Just wondering how you’d look.” He scooped the hat back off him and put it on his own head, tilting it down slightly. “How do I look?”  
  
England gave him a soft smile. “Reminds me of when you used to steal my feathered hat.”  
  
“Too bad those went out of fashion before I was big enough for my own.” America paused, fiddling with the brim. “I always thought you looked... well, I liked that hat.” He blushed. He’d been too little to think that way about England at the time, but the memory brought a few different ideas now. “I want your opinion after tomorrow when you get to see the whole thing.” America took the hat off his head and dropped it onto the stack amongst some elaborately beaded buckskin jackets.  
  
“Of course.” England nodded. “So is that it?”  
  
“Well, I’d offer to introduce you to some people, but they are probably either asleep or not here... oh! There are some stagecoaches and wagons that we brought along. You’ve seen those kinds of thing though.”  
  
“Yes I have” he nodded, walking forward a bit. “It's been awhile since you've popped in.”  
  
“There’s been a lot going on at home. I’ve been out west a lot. The railroad is done though. You can go all the way across my country now.” America stepped closer. “I’m surprised you didn’t come by at all.”  
  
“Like you said. There has been a lot going on.” England placed his hands on his hips.  
  
America ran a hand through his hair, shuffling his feet. England hadn’t tried to be close or anything. Granted, he’d been ill the last time they saw each other, but America had hoped. “I guess I can show you out... it’ll be busy tomorrow.”  
  
“So you need to turn in... right.” England nodded and gestured for the door. “Don't let me get in the way.”  
  
They walked out together into the growing shadows of the show arena. America fingers bumped into England’s and he lightly kept them there. Just the small touch was enough to send butterflies through his stomach. “I hope you can come tomorrow. It’s going to be something.”  
  
England huffed. “Oh, I am sure it's going to be something.” He flicked the back of America's hand before stepping onto the first step. “You know Alfred, the rest of the time you are so assertive it's downright pushy, except for these situations.” He grabbed the hand railing as he headed up. “Well, get some sleep. If you're performing tomorrow so you'll need all the energy you can get.”  
  
“Wait!” America bounded up the steps and caught England’s arm, turning him around. He pressed a kiss to England’s mouth. “Wish me luck?”   
  
England blinked furiously, grabbing the handrailing tightly. He nearly lectured America for pulling such a stunt that could have sent them both tumbling down the stairs, but he faltered “No... I shall not wish you luck,” he said firmly.  
  
“Why not?” America asked, was England upset? It had been a long time since that Christmas and even longer since their cabin.    
  
England sighed and shook his head. “Because that's awful luck.” He reached down when he noticed America's collar was crooked. “You are performing, right? So do break a leg.”  
  
“Will you come?”  
  
England nodded. “Of course.”  
  
America grinned. “You’re going to love it.” He didn’t want to let England go, but couldn’t exactly keep him in the small room that he’d been given backstage. He took England’s hand and turned to look up at him. “See you tomorrow?”  
  
England arched a brow. “Hard of hearing? I said I would come.”  
  
“Just wanted to verify. Good night, Arthur.” He leaned forward to give another kiss.  
  
“You are very needy,” England admonished, teasing. Bending down, he allowed America his kiss. England moved down another step to deepen the kiss. His fingers moved from his collar to the nape of America's neck.  
  
America’s resolve to just say goodbye and see England tomorrow eroded, but he’d been thinking about seeing England again ever since he’d heard of the trip. A particular idea had gotten stuck in his mind and he was intent on seeing it through. The desire to pull England into the shadows of the bench seats was not part of that plan. As the kiss slowed into warmth and closeness, America pulled back for a breath. “I have to go.”  
  
“Truly?” England arched a brow. “You absolutely have to leave now?”  
  
“If I don’t go now I won’t go at all.”  
  
“And that's a bad thing?” England ran a finger along his jaw.   
  
America rested a hand on England’s waist. The fabric was perfectly pressed despite the hour of the day. He wanted to see it wrinkled. His heart was pounding with the joy at England’s response to his kisses. He’s been worried, but it was still there. “Anyone ever tells you you're a bad influence?”  
  
“I am a perfect gentleman,” England argued, he leaned down pressing a kiss to the corner of America's mouth, his free hand playing with a button on his collar “Are you really going to go?”  
  
America chased the kiss, drawing England into a proper one. “Yes, I need to set a good example, hard as that may be.”  
  
“You're in London entertaining an English Lord. How is that not a good example?” England stepped flush against him. “But if you must.”  
  
America could feel his body responding to England’s touch, trembling as England wrapped his arms around his neck. It was getting darker, the shadows growing longer. “Come with me.” He grabbed England’s hand and hurried him back past the makeshift stables. He pulled open the doors to a large wagon and the smell of leather saddles and other tack flooded the space. He climbed up into it. “No one will notice us in here.” He found a box of matches, the light flaring as he found the lantern.  
  
England grinned and followed after him. “If you say so.”  
  
The door had barely closed when America had hooked his arms around England’s waist, lifting him up onto one of the saddle horses. “Just keep in mind, I’m doing some rough riding tomorrow,” he said.  
  
“Rough riding huh?” A wicked grin crawled up his face.  
  
“Yeah, rough riding.” America kissed England’s grin. His hands slid up England’s back, pressing his body against him.  
  
“Perfect.” England grabbed his shirt, yanking it loose from his pants. He jolted straight, as a crash sounded further in.  
  
America had moved forward, the crash jolting his instincts to get in the way of any danger. “Hello?” he said, looking into the shadows near the back of the wagon.   
  
A man with an American accent apologized loudly. “One of the stable hands,” England whispered.  
  
“Tarnation...” America muttered. “He probably didn’t see anything.” He straightened his clothes, helping England down. He tried to think of somewhere else they could go and find some semblance of privacy amongst the multitude of performers and support staff.  
  
“Well, maybe-” England was interrupted by a man with a British accent calling out for him. Deflating England sighed, but didn't respond. “Maybe they will go away,” he whispered.  
  
“Are we ever that lucky?” Regardless, they both stood quietly in their hidden corner of the saddle shed, hoping the interlopers would give them some space. There was silence for a moment and they relaxed until a woman's voice sounded for America and England swore.  
  
“Jane will turn the town upside down. I better go see what she wants. Wait here.” Walking away while stuffing his shirt tail back in his trousers, he opened the door and went outside.   
  
“Bill is gonna have a conniption if you don’t go talk to him,” Jane Canary said. She was much more widely known by her moniker, Calamity Jane. Someone must have talked her into wearing a dress and she shifted the skirt in a way that said she’d rather be in trousers.   
  
“That might be worth it. What does he want anyway?”  
  
“He wants...” she trailed off when she saw something over his shoulder. America turned and saw England stepping out from behind the door. He turned back to Jane and blushed at the look she gave him. “Well, I can tell him to go to hell if you’d prefer.”  
  
America tried to cover getting caught with a laugh. “Get a photo, I’d like to see his face. Just, uh, consulting with my English counterpart.”  
  
“Consulting, huh?” she said, disbelief in her voice. “I’ll talk to Bill.”  
  
“Thanks...”  
  
England walked over “Are you going to introduce me to the lady, Master Jones?”  he smiled.  
  
“Right, this is Martha Jane Canary, although if you’ve heard any stories the newspapers call her Calamity Jane. This is Arthur Kirkland,” America said. Jane seemed to size England up as she offered a hand.  
  
“Lord Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled taking her hand.  
  
She gave another knowing look at America, squeezing England’s hand harder than most men would. “I’ll leave you to your ‘consultation’. Lord knows, you certainly aren’t the only ones around here.”  
  
England cleared his throat. “I do need to head to the palace.”  
  
“I... uh... will walk you out.” He turned to Jane. “I’ll be back in a few.”  
  
“Don’t rush on my account,” she said. They made their farewells and America ushered England away.  
  
“She means well.”   
  
“She's rude,” England said flatly, crossing his arms.  
  
“Well, she’d be the first to tell you she’s no lady. She was an army scout. And she’s probably been in the bottle...” America put a hand on the small of England’s back to hurry him along. “Too bad it wasn’t Annie, she’s rough around the edges too, but not in the same way. She met her husband by outshooting him in a competition.”  
  
“It has nothing to do with being a lady or not.” He frowned. “Rudeness does not remain within the boundaries of sex.”  
  
“She’s had a rough life, cut her a break this time, huh?” They reached the steps and America slowed. “I didn’t know anyone would come looking for me... will I still see you tomorrow?”  
  
“Yes, after the show more than likely.”  
  
America brightened. “Have a good night, Arthur.”  
  
England smiled softly and gave a nod before walking back up the stairs again. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.  
  
***  
  
The crowd was loud, excited by what they had seen so far. The arena was still filled with the smoke from the guns, both blanks from the reenactments and the real from the trap demonstrations. The music swelled and America felt a thrill of anticipation running through his veins. He climbed up onto Patriot’s back. The horse quivering with his own excitement. A few of the other riders were ready. At the drop of the music, they spurred their horses into the arena and the race was on.  
  


His bright blue coat with an American flag beaded on the back pulled from the speed, his hat staying on only due to its tight fit. The wind rushed in his ears and he couldn’t even hear the cheers and gasps as people watched them ride quickly around the arena and move from trick to trick. When they were done he was covered in dust and finally felt the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He grinned and waved, scanning the audience for the one person he wanted to see.

 

He caught sight of England, dressed down for the day, more like a commoner. He was smiling, and it made America’s chest flutter. He raised his hat, tipping it toward him for a moment before jamming it back on his head and hurrying off stage so the sharpshooters could put on another show. 

 

***

  
England wasn't sure what he had been expecting for today's entertainment but this certainly wasn't it. And America climbing onto his horse and heading out into the arena with the others took his breath away, and he swore quietly. Lost in all the noise.   
  
“Enjoying yourself Arthur?” Victoria laughed loudly as she clapped with the rest of the crowd. England blinked in surprise, looking back. He didn't even remember getting out of his seat. Anticipation hummed through his veins and he was clutching the edge of the railing. He scowled back at the monarch who only laughed louder. Turning around in a huff, he looked back to America, a wide smile covering his face.   
  
“You little show off.” England settled back into his chair as he watched America ride off. He would see the rest of the things through, refusing to give Victoria the satisfaction of watching him run off to find Alfred. The boy looked... smashing. Turning his attention to Victoria, his smile only continued. This was the first showing, of well anything, that Victoria had attended since Albert's death. 

 

The English peoples' response to Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show was amazing. Thousands of British had lined the streets as the show group had made its way to the Earl’s court and if the reports from the Queen’s personal secretary were correct some twenty-eight thousand people had shown tonight to watch the American performance. One hundred and eighty horses, eighteen buffalo, elk, mules, and what they called Texas Longhorn peppered the stage before England’s eyes. The women he had met last night, Annie Oakley, Miss Annie Oakley, The Peerless Lady Wing-Shot. The champion lady shooter performed feats that had Londoner’s screaming in delight. Even Native Americans appeared on stage to England’s surprise. This really was the Wild West come to London. 

 

***   
  
America was taking the saddle off Patriot when the cheers broke out amongst the rest of the show’s performers. Buffalo Bill himself had just announced that the Queen of England had ordered two more performances. “Jones!” he said, coming over.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“There’s been a request for you. There’s a carriage waiting. He said you should come ‘post haste’ or some such thing.”   
  
America grinned. “Then I don’t want to be late.”   
  
England’s foot was tapping impatiently on the carriage floor by the time America opened the door. “Did you get lost?” He sized him up.   
  
“I had to get Patriot settled. I’m here now.” He caught England’s impatient gaze. “So? What did you think?”   
  
“Carriage. Now,” he snapped, irritation souring his features.   
  
America climbed up. “All right, I’m in the carriage.”   
  
Practically slapping the carriage wall, England huffed as they moved into traffic. “Tonight is going to be a trial,” he muttered.   
  
“You going to tell me what you thought?” He pulled his hat off his head, running his hand through his hair which was still sweat-damp.   
  
“Bloody amazing” he sniffed. “Everyone thought so.”   
  
America grinned. “Told you it was gonna be something. What did you think of me?” He plucked at his clothes. The carriage rattled as it went on at a quick pace.   
  
“I just told you.” He frowned. Looking away from the carriage window to glare. His eyes raked over America.   
  
“Call me amazing again,” America said, leaning back in his seat.   
  
“So amazing,” he huffed. “So amazing in fact that we are on the way to have dinner with Victoria.” His head dropped back with a groan. “And over half of the Parliament.”   
  
America’s eyes widened. “Stop the carriage, then. We’re getting out.”   
  
England snapped to attention. “I am not stopping the blasted carriage! We don't have time!”   
  
“We’re making time. I don’t want to go sit with a bunch of straight-backed politicians.” He scooted forward, his knees bumping England’s and he took his hand. “Let’s not go there.”   
  
“And I have to be at the dinner regardless,” he said sharply. “And I also plan to have you at the dinner because that puts you in close proximity to my quarters so I can fuck you before and after the meal without having to travel,” he said bluntly.    
  
“Oh,” America said, a flush stretching up his neck and his eyes going wide.    
  
“So ‘stop the carriage’ shall I?” England mimicked.   
  
America looked at him, picking up the hand he’d been holding and bringing it close to his mouth. “That’ll be a show. You sitting across from me all prim and proper thinking about what you’ve done with me... and planning what happens next... although, I would still rather skip the dinner.” He took the tip of England’s forefinger between his lips.   
  
England arched a brow. “Oh, I won't have any trouble.”   
  
“I might. That and you hauled me straight from my house to here. I smell like dust and horses and tack. I’d probably get away with it somewhere like Colorado Springs, but Buckingham Palace?” He pressed a kiss to England’s palm, enjoying the twitch of his fingers.   
  
“Oh, we shall wash before dinner and they can air your clothes then.” He curled his fingers.    
  
“Planned this all out, did you?” He pinched the fabric near England’s wrist so he could pull it back and press his lips against England’s pulse. The skin twitched with the other’s heartbeat.   
  
“Yes,” England breathed. “Plus, you'll get away with more tonight since they demanded I bring you in costume.”   
  
“I’m the entertainment?” America wrinkled his nose for a moment and then turned his attention back to England’s skin.    
  
“You came across the ocean to be entertainment. Don't be cross about it now.”   
  
“I suppose I did. They should have asked me to bring some people along, we could have told stories.” He unbuttoned England’s cuff so that he could get to the skin on the underside of his forearm. He felt more than a little bit of satisfaction at the hungry look in England’s eyes.   
  
“Should I turn around? Go grab more people?”   
  
“Not if it means we lose time before dinner. You could always send a messenger.” He pulled on England’s arm, trying to draw him onto his side.   
  
England shook his head, removing America's hand. “Not here.”   
  
America sighed, shifting his weight on the bench. “How do you do that?”   
  
“Do what?”   
  
“Keep yourself in control.”   
  
“Years of experience.”   
  
America shifted uncomfortably again. “Are we there yet?”   
  
“Almost.” England grinned “Experiencing some problems?” He all but undressed America with his eyes. “Did they have to sew you into those?” he murmured.   
  
“Considering ripping them off?” America nudged England’s foot with his own.   
  
“Possibly.” England lifted a shoulder in a display of nonchalance.   
  
“You better hope we get there soon.”   
  
“Oh and why is that?” he asked amused.   
  
“Because I’m not going to be able to stay on my side much longer. I might have to get out of this carriage and take the reins.”    
  
The words were barely out of America's mouth when the carriage rumbled to a stop. England put a hand up, stopping America and allowing for the footmen to grab the door. He followed England out of the carriage, hoping that no one would stop them.   
  
A man stood at the top of the stairs. “Welcome home Lord Kirkland. I take it that this is Master Jones.”   
  
“Yes, Samuel. Did you set the bedroom and bathing room like I asked?” England handed off his coat and hat but gestured for America to keep his.   
  
“Shall I bring up afternoon tea?”   
  
“Yes, thank you. Anything in particular you want?” England glanced at Alfred as they continued down the hall.   
  
“Something to eat. Thanks.”   
  
“So just double my normal tea.” England sighed and gestured for Samuel to leave as they reached his chambers. America stepped through the door first, England holding it open. As soon as England was through it too, America felt a harsh tug on the back of his jacket, catching him off balance so his back bumped into the door.   
  
“Your clothes stay on,” England hissed before kissing him hard against the door. America kissed him back, curious about what England was thinking. He wrapped his arms around England’s waist and reversed their position, pressing England against the wood.   
  
England grabbed the front of America's jacket, the leather stiff in his fingers, backing America through the parlor. America let him lead, breaking the kiss to press his mouth to England’s jaw. His fingers tangled into England’s jacket, tugging it off.   
  
Shimmying out of the restriction England knocked America backward onto the bed, popping the buttons open on his shirt, eyes raking over America's form. America grinned and caught England’s shirt front, dragging him down on top of him. He loosed the last few buttons, fingers landing on England’s skin.   
  
England's hands jumped down to belt buckle, undoing it with a grunt. “Nice looking, but annoying.”   
  
“That could describe lots of things.” He gained a little bit of leverage and pushed England over, rolling on top of him. Green eyes clashed with blue, a dominant hunger brightening them.   
  
“No,” England grunted, placing his foot on America's hip and flipped him off. “On your back.” He stared down at the younger nation, skin shiny with sweat, pink mouth panting with need and wheat colored hair a tousled mess against his dark sheets. England swallowed, his hips rocking against America's, both men swallowing moans.   
  
It was obvious England had plans for what he wanted to do, and America trusted that it would be worth it. He lay back, an expectant look turned to England.   
  
“At least you're ready, about to bust your damn buttons.” He grunted as he undid America's trousers. “Did you forget your drawers this morning?” He arched a brow, reaching for the bedside table.   
  
“How else do you think I got these trousers to fit?” He ran his fingers along England’s waist, hooking his fingers in the fabric and tugging him forward. Catching himself on his elbows, England kissed America hard, grabbing the boys hands when he tried to unbutton his own shirt.    
  
“If you want to take something off take off my trousers.” He bit the skin behind America's ear harshly as he unscrewed the bottle of oil he had taken from the bedside table. Dragging his tongue along the salty skin of America's neck he bit the other in warning when he hesitated.   
  
America groaned, sound swallowed by England’s kiss. His hands fumbled at England's clothes, tugging at the fabric until it began to slide down England’s legs. The paler blond shuddered as the fabric dragged over the sensitive skin of his thighs, over his cock, releasing him from an uncomfortable confinement he hadn't realized he was in until he was out.   
  
“Finally,” England grunted tossing the bottle to the bed in a desperate move. With his right hand, forefinger and middle fingers, he rubbed a copious amount of oil together as his left hand moved between them, catching America off guard and reducing him to a squirming mess. “Patience,” England commanded, slowing his touch, he reached behind himself with a slow exhale, expression twisting in pain.   
  
“Fuck...” America breathed, a shiver going through him as he watched England, his fingers finding England’s thighs and sliding upwards. He leaned up slightly, stealing a kiss from England’s mouth before he was roughly pushed back down on the bed.   
  
England glared at the other raising his hips with a wince as he continued to prepare himself. “Down,” he ordered. Long fingers squeezed America's cock in warning, before reaching to grab the neglected bottle. Unscrewing the crooked cap he flipped the bottle, muttering a warning about the coolness of the oil before, pouring the last of the bottle onto the other, tossing the bottle to the floor.   
  
Holding tightly to England’s hips, America put his head back. Half-intelligible curses slipped between his lips. He slid his right hand up, over the flat planes of England’s stomach and across his chest. “C’mon,” he said, urging England on.   
  
“I said patience. It's been awhile,” England hissed. Placing both hands on America's chest England took a deep breath, gaze sliding over America's form again. “Damn,” he exhaled, scooting forward. He rocked higher onto his knees. “Do not move until I say so,” he ordered “I don't care how much you want to.” With that he took another breath, sinking slowly onto America with a swear.   
  
America grit his teeth, his own body trying to adjust to England’s in this new way. He held himself as still as he could, knowing that despite it, he was going to leave a bruise on England’s skin from his grip on his waist. His breath caught in his chest as England was on top of him, his thighs rubbing against the skin of hips. “You...” his words shortened into a pleased sound as England shifted slightly.   
  
“Me what?” England sighed, willing his muscles to relax. He would be sore in the morning.   
  
“You feel... ah... so... it’s like...” He was having a really hard time even thinking about words. “Can I move yet?”   
  
“No.” England shook his head. Rising up slowly, England dropped back down with a groan that was covered by America's shout. “As long as you don’t flip us over, yes, you can move now,” England grunted.   
  
America tried to figure out the best movement, watching England’s face as sweat beaded on his brow and slid down his neck. The instinct to turn him over was strong, but the way England tensed when he even tried to shift upwards made him hesitate. He let England control the pace, his body not wanting to do anything that might change the situation. England threaded his right hand through the fingers of America’s left, squeezing his hand with every movement of their bodies. America could feel the warmth pooling in his belly, “I’m...”   
  
“No,” England gasped, bringing America's hand to his own neglected self. England swallowed a sob when he fumbled at first. England’s dismay left him with a cry as America's large hand started a quick pace. Hips snapping in response, England shifted, searching. He had been careful, aware the entirety of it all, until his vision went white as he found it. Hips bucking at a frantic pace his mind narrowed down into one goal and it didn't take long before England’s body seized, back arching sharply, head thrown back with a cry and he made a mess of the man keening below him. He was vaguely aware of how hard America still was inside him. Not far. Grasping clumsily at America's hands he shoves them to his hips. “use... move,” he gasped, his over sensitive body thrumming as America bucked. The younger was moments behind.   
  
America could only take deep breaths as England slowly climbed off him and then lay down on his chest, damp hair beneath his chin. He wrapped his arms around him, wishing that he wasn’t still half clothed. He pressed a kiss to his hair. “I could get used to that,” he breathed, veins still thrumming with sensation.   
  
“Good,” England breathed before his nose wrinkled. “I need to send for a maid” he murmured, rolling over to stretch out on his belly, crossing his arms he rested his head on them, to look at America. Satisfaction covered his features, as he looked over the other.    
  
“Don’t send for someone just yet,” America shifted onto his side, looking back at England. He reached over and traced the side of his face, then ran a finger over his eyebrow. America smiled. He liked the way England looked in that moment, satisfied. Happy even.   
  
England brushed his hand away. “You really want to stay in those dirty clothes... they will definitely need to wash the shirt. It needs time to dry.” His eyes ran over America’s form grinning as an idea formed.    
  
“Never said that. Just don’t want to have to get up just yet.”    
  
“Ah... well, I am taking a bath.” England rolled out of bed, popping his back. “You are more than welcome to stay here, Cowboy,” he shot over his shoulder. 

  
“That depends, do I fit in the bath, too?” America watched England walk away, his skin on display. He certainly wanted more time with that. An idea came to the front. Maybe he could convince England to avoid the dinner altogether.    
  
“You fit last time. Have you gained more weight?” England peered over his shoulder.   
  
“I’m not getting fat,” America grumbled. He slid off the bed, pausing to start on the clothes England had insisted on him keeping on.    
  
“Bring the hat,” he called, disappearing into the bathroom. The bathroom was full of steam, and England paid little attention to the men who bowed themselves out after leaving trays of sweets, towels, and glasses of wine. The steam curling off of the water surface in the massive tub was barely visible as it mingled with the clouded air. Grabbing the edge England swung one leg in, after the other, sinking into the water with a sigh. “Rose and sandalwood oils this time,” he noted.   
  
Spinning his hat around on his finger as he walked into the space, America paused to take in the advancements. Indoor plumbing was slowly making inroads into wealthier households and it was certainly more convenient than lugging buckets and hot kettles around. He dropped his hat back on his head. “Scoot forward,” he said, waiting for England to make room in the tub.    
  
England shook his head. “Four people can fit in this blasted tub. Why ever should I scoot forward?”   
  
“Because I don’t want three people’s space between us.” He moved closer and stepped into the tub next to England, crowding into his space until he pulled him onto his lap.   
  
“It would be two peoples.” England argued.    
  
America shrugged and pushed his nose into the back of England’s neck. England sighed, slouching further into the water. “Two more shows it seems. Queen’s orders.” Wrapping his arms around England’s waist, America relaxed against the edge of the tub.   
  
“Decided I would be nice to you.” England shrugged, lifting one leg above the water to examine his calf.   
  
“That’s what that was?” America ran his hands up England’s sides and settled on his shoulders. He pressed his thumb into the muscles of his shoulders. “I’m sure more people would like to see more of the West. Are you gonna come see me ride again?”   
  
England sighed quietly, head dropping forward in response. “if Victoria requires it of me.”   
  
“Is that your way of saying you want to, but don’t want to sound like it?” He smiled at the back of England’s head, continuing his ministrations. His hat brim brushed at England’s hair.   
  
“I take back me being nice. I'll remedy that, take your hat off you'll need to wash.”   
  
America raised an eyebrow at him as England extricated himself from his hold and scowled at him from the other side of the bathtub. “You told me to bring it.”   
  
“Yes, but you can put it back on after you wash.” He eyed America “We have enough time.”   
  
Plucking it off his head and settling it safely out of the water, America slid deeper into the water, dampening his hair.   
  
“Will you be leaving with the show?”   
  
“I’ll have to head home at some point.”   
  
“That's not what I asked.”   
  
“What answer do you want to hear?”   
  
“The answer to my question.”   
  
“I could stay a few extra days. After all, you want your horse to meet mine didn’t you?”   
  
“Yes, like I said my mare is entering heat and I was looking for a new stud. She keeps mothering prime racers. I'll have my stable vet look your stallion over.”   
  
“Sounds good. He’s a good one.” He rinsed some of the soap off his skin.   
  
“Of course all the paperwork will need to be signed.”   
  
“Patriot was a wild horse, he doesn’t have a bloodline.”   
  
“No, but I want my vet to look at his health and to make sure everything is in working order before we even bother.”   
  
“I’m just saying, don’t expect me to pull out a breeding book of all his sires and dames. He’s a mustang. Kind of like me, I guess.” He smiled at England from across the tub and leaned up to reach for some of the food the servants left.   
  
“Alfred, I am more than aware of that as I said I was. That is exactly why I'm asking for him. The contract is to acknowledge that if she was to bear any colts that you may take them, but the fillies stay with me.” He reached over for the silver cigarette case and popped it open, lighting one. “Although, regardless of sex the first one belongs to me”   
  
“All right, I can agree to those terms. Why do you want the first one?”   
  
“Reasons.” England shrugged. Alfred wouldn't believe him if he told him his mare’s genes would override the stallion’s and it wouldn't be just a horse, but a unicorn. The foal would often carry the stature and beneficial genes from the sire, but every breeding after that between the pair would turn out a horse, an extraordinary horse, but a horse nonetheless. “There is no promise that we will ever breed them again and I carry the majority of the risk since it's my mare that shall carry and birth the offspring.” He exhaled, the smoke curling into the steam. “I do warn you though. If she doesn't ‘think him worthy’ it will be very obvious very quickly. There will be several stable hands on hand to intervene if need be. That's where the liability form comes in.”   
  
America raised an eyebrow. “High standards, huh?”   
  
“She... killed the last stallion,” he grunted.    
  
He coughed. “Couldn’t you just keep a fence between ‘em?”   
  
England arched a brow. “Do you know how to breed equine?” He leaned over, tapping his cigarette clean. “He has to be able to mount her... similar to how I did you earlier... although from behind.”    
  
America turned scarlet. “I know how to breed animals! I’m saying when they first meet.”   
  
England laughed. “Look at you.” He shook his head. “Well, of course, they shall see each other on opposite sides of the fence. But she is in heat and he’ll be able to smell her. Controlling a horse of that size with a fertile mare in range will be difficult.”    
  
“I can handle him.” America said, “Unless your fences aren’t all that stout.”   
  
England arched a brow. “I guess one with experience knows how to control a wild thing.”    
  
“I’m all about wild things. You’ve seen my wild places.”   
  
“Yes... which explains why I am able to... rein one in.” He grinned, smudging out his smoke.    
  
America leaned back in the tub, stretching out his arms along the rim. “You think you can tame me do you?”   
  
“Did I say tame?”   
  
“Rein one in, is what you said.”   
  
“Exactly.” He stood up, walking slowly the few steps to America's side of the tub .“I reined you into my bed, did I not? I wasn’t sure that you were going to make it sanely out of that carriage.”    
  
“Coming willingly is a big difference than roping something wild.” He reached out, running his hands over England’s hips.   
  
“Yes, but there is a level of willingness, surrender of some sort.” England glanced down at the bruises forming along his hips and waistline.    
  
“That wasn't surrendering. It was coming together.” He brushed his fingers over the marks, feeling a little guilty, but England didn’t seem to mind. “It was being together.”   
  
“Oh, you surrendered all right.” England’s voice turned into a purr. One leg after another, England eased into his lap.   
  
“Never,” America said, eyes lighting with interest as England hooked his arms around his neck.   
  
“Oh? You never surrendered? Ever in my bed?”   
  
“Letting someone in isn’t the same thing as surrendering.” He bit his lip as England shifted his body over his, brushing their bodies together.   
  
England sighed, placing his feet on the wall of the tub to push away. “You certainly do know how to kill a mood.”   
  
“I thought you didn’t like games.” America reached out his hand and caught England’s forearm, not letting him get far. “Kiss me.”   
  
“It’s not a game.” England scowled “I suppose that this is to be expected, always straight to it. Foreplay completely ignored.”    
  
“I’m still new at this. Maybe my teacher needs to have more patience?” He came closer this time and pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s frown.   
  
“Maybe the student shouldn’t argue when he could be getting attention.”    
  
“All right, dude, I’m listening.”   
  
“No.” England shook his head. “Perhaps later.”    
  
A disappointed pout formed on America’s face as he settled back against the edge and sighed. “Why later and not now?”   
  
“Because you drowned the moment and now must suffer the consequences.” England treaded in the water of the tub, that might as well have been a small pool. Leveling the other with a gaze, England smiled. “I guess you’ll just have to keep yourself busy at supper with your imagination.”    
  
America gave him a lopsided smile. “I will.”   
  
“And perhaps till after your next showings.” England smiled mockingly in return.   
  
“You throwing me out of your bed just because I won’t surrender to you? Seems like a waste.” America shrugged and got out of the tub, trying not to let his hurt feelings show on his face.    
  
England sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Honestly.”   
  
Drying off, America wrapped the towel around his waist. “Honestly, what?”   
  
“Nothing.” England shook his head, sinking down into the water further.    
  
Yawning, America walked out of England’s lavish bathroom and back into the bedroom. The servants had come in like characters out of one of England’s fairy tales to change the sheets and to gather his clothes for laundering before dinner. Since he didn’t have anything to wear, he lay down on the bed on his stomach. He felt tired, the excitement from the night before not letting him get much rest. He rested his head on his arm and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him. It would only be a little rest before dinner.   
  
***   
  
Five hours. England had not expected the dinner to take five hours. The Parliament members hadn't even stopped for a breath in all of their questions and now England was furious. It was not supposed to have taken that long. Samuel opened the door to his parlor and England stormed past, popping the buttons on his collar open. “that was ridiculous! Five hours!”   
  
America was wrapped up in the bedsheets still dead to the world, he was sprawled across the bed, face buried in the pillows.   
  
Grabbing a brush from the dressing table he chucked it at the younger man. “ALFRED!!” he shouted.   
  
Jerking awake, America looked at him, bewildered. “What time is it?”   
  
“You slept through the blasted dinner! I had to call some of your other performers to the palace!” England snapped.   
  
Sitting up, America ran a hand over his hair. “Gosh, you could have woken me... I didn’t realize I was that tired.”   
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose England sighed. “It's...done with. Parliament was overjoyed with the nine that arrived.”   
  
“Well, that’s what you wanted right?”   
  
“Nobody wants a 5-hour dinner.” England sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.   
  
America’s eyes widened. “I slept that long?” He scooted over so he could put his hand on the back of England’s neck, rubbing at the stiff muscle. “You could have made an escape.”   
  
“Well, you fell asleep two hours prior to the dinner. So more like seven,” England corrected, pulling away to pop his back.   
  
America was silent for a moment. “I haven’t slept that much in a long while,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.   
  
“Well, that's good then I suppose.” England shrugged out of his dinner jacket, unbuttoning his vest. “However it is eleven o'clock at night and I haven't slept. So I plan to turn in.”   
  
“The bed is warm.” America slid back between the blankets and made space for England.   
  
Flopping down into the bed England heaved a sigh. “That was exhausting.”   
  
America snuggled against his back, feeling England relax against his body. “You can sleep.”   
  
“I'm still mad at you, you know. Don't think you are forgiven that easily.”   
  
“It’s your fault for not waking me.” He yawned again. “Just sleep with me now.”   
  
“I wasn't talking about the sleep,” he said quietly into the dark room.   
  
“For what then?” America said, pulling back from him slightly.   
  
“In the water closet. We were talking, jesting with one another and out of nowhere you just stormed off and then went and passed out”   
  
“I didn’t storm off... I was... it’s just you always get sarcastic to avoid being honest with me. Believe me,  I'm used to it, but... I wasn’t angry at you, I just... don’t tease me.” America rolled away from him.   
  
“Fine.” England grunted. “Come straight in, no words, no banter just a straight fuck and done.” He pulled the blankets tight around his shoulders before muttering into his pillow “It's like Ludwig all over again.”   
  
Pulling even farther away, America sat up, staring down at England. “Is that what you think you are to me? If you would listen to me instead of getting sarcastic anytime I say anything heartfelt you would know better. When I tell you that I care about you, I’ve never been lying. You have no idea what you mean to me.” He paused and England didn’t say anything. The emotion caught in his chest, fearful of letting it out. England would probably brush it off.  “You’re the only one.”   
  
England curled into himself on the bed. “Alfred, I'm tired.”   
  
America made a sound of acceptance, laying back down. “Then, let’s just sleep. I have to ride again tomorrow.”   
  
“So do I.”   
  
“Is that right?” he said, rolling over to look at the back of England’s head. He smiled at him, he could be patient. It had taken so long to even be here. He reached for the back of his shirt.   
  
“Yes, but then as usual things did not go as planned.” England sighed.   
  
“We have tomorrow. I’m not done with you, yet.” He tugged a little on his shirt, to pull him closer.   
  
“Don't drag me across the bed.” England chided. “If you want to share body warmth you can move... and honestly I am surprised you are staying here.”   
  
“Do you want me to leave?” America came closer. “The command performance isn’t until afternoon from what I understand.”   
  
“I never said such a thing. I just said that I'm surprised you're staying here for the night considering you're a part of the show. I hear they are all staying in their own hotel.”   
  
“I was on the ship with them all the way here.”   
  
“I'm just surprised is all,” England repeated, rolling over to give the other a look.   
  
“That I want to be here with you for a little while?”   
  
“When will you bring the horse by?” England said, evading the question.   
  
“Well, he’ll be occupied for a bit, so it’ll probably have to be after the second show.”   
  
“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” He rolled back towards the window. “Well, sleep now is perhaps the best thing.”   
  
“Good night, Arthur.”   
  
“Good night, Alfred.”   
  
***   
  
There was nothing like England watching his every move, America decided. It was an intensity that he could feel over every inch of his body. He was looking forward to seeing him after the show, but something had pulled the other away. It wasn’t until after the third show when he was walking Patriot up the cobbled walkway to the stable that he saw him again.    
  
England was dressed simply, the sort of thing he wore when he was outdoors. Despite, the casualness, England could never really shake the look that he wore when he was near his capital. He was waiting inside the doors of the stables, eyeing America as he grew closer.    
  
England had been at the show, America knew, but he’d disappeared with a member of the royal family before America could catch him. “Howdy, Arthur.”   
  
“In one piece still I see.”   
  
“That collision wasn’t planned,” America said, rubbing at the lump on the side of his head. “I was kind of surprised you didn’t stick around after.”   
  
“I had something to attend to. Plus...I had Samuel sticking around to inform me. Couldn't really have one of the Queen's court fussing over a random American performer in front of cameras and newspaper writers can we?”   
  
“So, we would be a scandal?” America came closer, pausing in the shade cast by the stable building. “You were a little worried about me, then, huh?” He smiled.   
  
“Don't sound so cocky,” England muttered. “Or I'll give you a matching lump on the other side of your head!”   
  
“No thanks,” America said, grinning. “Where do we want to take this guy?”   
  
England sighed gesturing towards the stable yard. “My stable hands have her in the corral.”   
  
“Lead the way,” America said, taking a good hold on the lead rope. “Ready to meet a girl?” The stallion made a quiet sound, stomping a hoof. They walked towards the corral.

  
***   
  
“Well, that went surprisingly well.” England commented in surprise as the stable hands led both horses away into separate stables. Taking the signed paperwork from America's hands, he tucked them into the folder that Samuel was holding before dismissing his valet to the castle.   
  
“Told you not to worry,” America said. “You’ll have to send me a photo when she foals. Lily is a pretty mare.”   
  
“She isn't normally so compliant,” England warned “And I will send you notice of it takes.” He gestured for America to follow him to the palace.   
  
“Maybe it will have spots.” America followed the cobbles of the outdoors changing to the smooth floor of the indoors.   
  
“I certainly hope not.” England shook his head. “Afternoon tea with me?”   
  
“Is there coffee for me?”   
  
England sighed. “I just don't know what's wrong with you.”   
  
“I’ll take that as a yes? I could use something to eat.” America took the lead, walking towards England’s parlor.   
  
“I can have something heavier brought up.” He eyed the costume America still wore. “At least it didn't stain.”   
  
“Nah, whatever is there will be fine.” America eyed him for a moment. “If it had you would have owed me a new shirt.”   
  
England snorted. “Well, excuse me for being courteous. I guess that's the last time that I do that.”   
  
“You can be ‘courteous’ any time. It was... something else. Just maybe we can consider being gentle with my clothes? Maybe set them aside?” America glanced sidelong at England as they reached the door and it was opened by a servant.   
  
England stopped inside the doorway. “What?”   
  
America’s cheeks flushed. After the door was closed and they were alone. “I, uh, well... you know... were you not talking about last time?”   
  
“You mean last night when I rode you like you ride your stallion?” He crossed his arms. America nodded, cheeks red. He fiddled with his glasses. “And you’re saying I am rough with your clothes?” His hands settled on his hips.   
  
“That’s right.”    
  
“And yet you didn't change this time?”   
  
“You asked me to come right after the show. And we were going to be working with the horses.” America felt a shiver go up his spine with the way England was looking at him.   
  
“Well, yes, and I like your clothes.” England's voice dropped an octave. “To be frank I like the way you look in them, all the hype about the wild west certainly has an allure. And it falls in line very nicely.” England closed the space between them, long fingers tracing over the intricate design of America's belt buckle. “Are you telling me that that was my one and only time, Alfred?”   
  
“I hope not.” America took a shaky breath, hands coming to rest on England’s arms.   
  
“But you just told me you were so worried about your clothes.” England shook his head. “Can't really do that again then.”   
  
Fingers tightening, America held him close. “I’m not that worried about it.”   
  
“Oh, change of mind now?”   
  
America smiled at him and with a quick movement, scooped England off his feet. “The shirt got cleaned last time and if not... it’s for a good cause.”   
  
Gripping fast at America's shoulder England grunted. “Good cause?”   
  
“Getting to see you like that again.”   
  
It was this time for England to turn red. “You're going to give me whiplash with your changing decisions rapid fire like this.”   
  
“I didn’t change my mind. So why don’t you kiss me?”   
  
Confusion crossed England's features, but he kissed him nonetheless, wrapping his legs around America's waist. Shifting England to one arm, America used one hand to loosen England’s shirt tail so that he could slide his hand up his spine.    
  
“Fuck,” England swore. “The day you get over your shyness...” England's contemplation was stopped short by a kiss.   
  
America kissed him, pressing forward for an advantage that England pushed back against.  _ One day, _ America thought,  _ when we’re equals. When you look at me for myself, not for just our history. Then we’ll both have what we really wan _ t.


	5. Allen, Oliver and the Ripper

_ September 8, 1888 _

_ London, England _

 

“I am fully aware you plan to handle this as the Queen’s guard dog. But please, do not give the Yard too much of a hassle, Earl Phantomhive.” England leaned back in his chair sizing up the pair. The youngest, a dark-haired boy sitting rigidly in his chair while his butler, inhuman, stood just behind. “I plan to aid in ridding London of the problem as well. Yet, I plan to work with the local police of Whitechapel. I highly doubt you have had the pleasure of meeting the two men I’ve become fond of, a Mr. Reed and a Sergeant Drake. I believe they will be pertinent to our efforts.” He lifted up the documents from the desk.

 

“Of course, but I can assure you I shall have it handled. I am a Phantomhive after all,” the young teen attempted to coerce him. 

 

“Oh, I have no doubt about that, Earl. But I cannot simply stand by while this havoc terrifies my streets. I am sure you have other things to attend to so we might as well give it our best shot correct?” England gave a small smile, slightly amused at the irritation in the boys eyes. Looking over at the butler he received a simple nod. This was not their first time meeting and England wasn’t daft. He knew when a demon was summoned on his own damn land. And he made sure to let the other know. Demon versus nation in a fight would be most interesting. As the young earl opened his mouth, there was a knock on the door. Moments later, Charles was poking his head in the door with an expression that England had become far too familiar with. 

 

“Honestly?! Now of all times?”  England groaned. “I take it he is waiting in my parlor?” He sighed as Charles nodded and disappeared once more. Pushing to his feet, England grabbed his hat and jacket “I shall let you get on with your work, I am sure you are anxious to get to work. And it seems that I have a foreign diplomat to attend to.” Following the two out of his office, he turned the opposite way down the hall hearing the start of an order.

 

“Sebastian…”

 

***

 

“Alfred, to show up unannounced...” England scowled, entering the room only to find America sitting on his couch and looking far too at home. 

 

America looked up from the open book he was studying. “I decided to take a holiday. I won’t be able to breathe once it’s closer to the election.”

 

“Once again, to show up unannounced...” England frowned, crossing his arms. “If I were to believe that was the only reason you came to London right now  _ I _ would be daft” 

 

America gave him a smile. “Oh, I have an ulterior motive? News to me.”

 

“I know for a fact that your papers have been reporting on this case. I have enough Yankee newspaper correspondents to start my own circus.” After placing his jacket and hat down, he settled his hands on his hips.

 

“It is kind of sensational. I wanted to know if it was true.”

 

Running his hands through his hair England sighed. “Of course it’s true.” 

 

“Then your lawmen are laying down on the job,” America said, closing the book and standing up. He pushed his hands into his pockets, looking the part of an overeager schoolboy. “Can I help?”

 

“You insult my police and then ask to help?” England frowned. 

 

“You’ve heard of my detectives, right? Between them and the marshals, I can probably figure it out.”

 

“You want to barge in here and bring a Pinkerton with you?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it's just not done that way.” He crossed his arms. 

 

America leaned on the end table and gave England a look. “Is this about the cattle market? Are you not accepting my help because your investments went south? C’mon Arthur, I can’t exactly control the weather.”

 

“I am acting this way because you showed up unannounced and then want to get involved in my police business. You didn’t even have the decency to say hello.”

 

America walked over to him. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance.” He caught the cuff of England’s shirt sleeve in his fingertips just brushing against England’s wrist. “Hello, Arthur.”

 

“So touchy,” England muttered, flushing. He looked away stubbornly. 

 

America took the opportunity to press a kiss to the side of England’s head. “So, how about we catch the bad guy and save London?”

 

“You sound absurd,” he gripped, stepping back and swatting America’s affection away in embarrassment. 

 

America closed the distance and caught England around the shoulder with one arm. “C’mon, with my help you’ll find him in no time.”

 

“One would think you would grow out of your cockiness.” He scowled, jabbing America in the ribs with his thumb. “Manhandling!”

 

“Well, people think wrong things all the time.” He shifted a little, jolting a little at England’s poke.

 

“You are so cocksure!”

 

“Why are you being such a cock of the walk? If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.”

 

“Who knows maybe you are finally getting it,” England said flatly. 

 

America rolled his eyes. “Well, if you aren’t going to let me catch bad guys, then I think we should get something to eat. We should go get fish and chips, or is it too new fangled for you still?” 

 

England sighed. “Fine. As you like.” With a little cheer, America could barely wait for England to fetch his hat before they were making their way towards East London. “You came all the way here and you want to eat fish and chips.” It was England’s turn to roll his eyes as they bumped along in the two wheeled carriage.

 

“We can eat something somebody else taught you to make later. I like fish and chips.” 

 

England stared at him in offense. “How dare you!”

 

“I’ll let you make breakfast tomorrow though, you’re good at that.” America smiled at him as if that would salve the wound. 

 

“Don’t even try,” England barked, crossing his arms. “Last time I ever cook for you.”

 

“Is that a promise?” At England’s deepening scowl, America nudged him with his elbow. “I’m just pulling your leg.”

 

“The only thing you'll be pulling while your here is your own pants off,” England muttered under his breath in agitation. 

 

America leaned closer. “And here I was hoping you’d be giving me a reason.”

 

England turned to glare. “Excuse me?”

 

America raised an eyebrow. “Well, you ripped my last pair of trousers when I was here. You should have seen Annie Oakley’s face when I asked her if she could help me fix them. Granted, part of that might have been that I asked her to sew... I don’t have to tell you that she’s better with a six-shooter than a needle and thread... What?” he said, noticing that England’s face had turned a remarkable shade of red.

 

“You... are... unbelievable.” 

 

America gave him an innocent look in response. “I mean, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t experienced it.”

 

Covering his face with his hands England groaned. “Just be quiet will you?” 

 

“Why’d you bring it up if you’re going to be odd about it?”

 

England yanked the curtain open. “We have to be almost there. Tell me we are almost there,” he pleaded. 

 

“What’s wrong?” America glanced over England’s shoulder at the street. “Is something going on?”

 

“Yes, I need to get out of this carriage.”

 

“Then stop the carriage. You’re not feeling sick are you?” America reached out to put a hand on England’s forehead.

 

England scowled. “Ill with disbelief.” 

 

“At what, that I’m talking about it or that you behaved that way?” America laughed, leaning back.

 

“You just don't speak of such things!” he snapped.

 

“You’re the one still talking about it.” With a rude gesture, England pointedly turned away to ignore him, arms crossed. 

 

The carriage pulled to a stop, discharging them into a busy street, bustling with the traffic of the late afternoon. Food acquired, they leaned against a wall watching the people walk by. “You should come visit. I have some more investments you might find interesting out west.”

 

“I'll present it to Parliament.”

 

“I’m pretty sure some of them are already invested. Although, they should stop stirring up some of my business owners. There might be trouble.”

 

England paused, eyebrow raising he turned to look at America. “Is that a threat?”

 

America looked at him. “No, more like a rainstorm in the desert. The water has to end up somewhere you just hope it’s not on top of you.” For a moment, England thought about responding, but turned to his ale instead, watching America carefully as he took a drink. 

 

Turning back to his food, America finished his off looking pleased with the meal.

 

***

 

“Now I would appreciate you keeping your comments and expressions neutral while we are here.” England gripped the door handle as the carriage lurched to a stop on the uneven road.    
“East London. Whitechapel is one of the poorer districts of London,” England warned. They had decided that while they were out for an early lunch that they might as well head over to speak with the police that England had been in contact with regarding the cases. 

 

“Okay, I’ll listen,” America said, looking entirely too excited that England was letting him tag along.

 

“How much do you even know about what's going on?”

 

“The killer murdered a woman down here and was being pretty gruesome about it, right?”

 

“That's the very basics of it.” England grabbed his hat, putting it on. “So far he has only killed one woman, a prostitute, by the name of Mary Ann Nichols. They found her just over a week ago down in Buck’s row. Her throat cut and her lower belly ripped open and various other cuts.” he shook his head. “Let me correct that. There is reason that I had made plans to head out and meet with Whitechapel police today. I received a letter that they found another woman this morning just after six am. I was told no further details.”

 

“Do you think it could be the same guy?”

 

“That's what we are guessing, yes. Which means that the attack marks must be similar if not identical.”

 

“Well, let’s get to it. Gotta protect people.”

 

England frowned in concern. “Please don’t do anything to get yourself arrested.” He popped the door open and stepped out into the street. They had stopped just in front of the police station, officers coming in and out in a steady flow. A shift change. It was late afternoon and throngs of people filled the street. Yet, something was off. It took England a moment to realize what it was. There were very few women out and about. It was like they were all hiding. “Alfred, let’s go inside quickly.” He gestured for the other to follow him. Moving around the carriage and up the steps into the police station  they entered a tense lobby. On one side, closed office doors lined the wall and the other was filled with loud, shouting men behind bars. Ignoring their shouts and complaints, England moved to the front desk where a red-headed man leaned over the books. 

 

“Hello, I am here to see a Mr. Reed.” He pulled his hat off. 

 

“I am afraid they are out at the moment. I remember you from last time. I am sure Mr. Reed won’t mind you waiting in his office.” The man pointed to the office door closest to them. “Just through there... Could I get you and your companion’s names for the book?”

 

“Ah yes...” England hesitated. “Oliver and Allen.” He pointed to himself first and then Alfred, casting a warning glance at him.

 

As soon as the door closed behind them in the office, America laughed. “Allen, really? Did you name yourself after Oliver Twist or something? You might be skinny, but you aren’t exactly an orphan.”

 

“Don’t spout rubbish. It was the first names that came to mind.”

 

“All righty, Oliver.” America snickered. When England glared at him, he tried to school his face, but the corners of his mouth still twitched. “I get it, this is serious.”

 

“Very serious. Women are being slaughtered in my streets,” England said tightly. “And if you find this situation amusing, I suggest you take the carriage back and wait”

 

“I never said I found the situation funny, just the aliases. The murderer should be locked up and put on trial.”

 

“He should be shot and thrown in a damn ditch.” 

 

“Maybe that’s what the judge will decide. But... I guess I can’t say I wouldn’t take matters into my own hands either.”

 

England rubbed at his temple in irritation. “I don't have the time for this.” The words barely escaped his mouth when the door opened and a brown haired, serious looking man entered the room, inquisitive eyes falling on them.

 

“Lord Kirkland, I was told I had visitors, but not under the name I know you by.”

 

“Mr. Reed, yes. I hope to keep the presence of my colleague and I rather hush hush. I am sure you understand.” England shook hands with the detective, with a smile. “This is Master Jones,” he gestured to America. 

 

“Howdy,” America said.

 

“American?” Reed looked on in surprise. “I wasn't aware-”

 

“That I keep such company? I hear that rather often,” England drawled. “Now about the case this morning, I would like to take your reports after they are complete for the day. Since I see that they are not in hand, I am guessing they are with the mortician?”

 

“Yes... and you wish to take them home with you?”

 

“Just for the evening. Her Majesty asked me to aid your force. So, if you would oblige me.”

 

“Of course.” Reed nodded. 

  
  


***

 

It took just over an hour before England and America were in their carriage, thin case file in hand and on their way back to Buckingham palace. “After super we shall look at these,” England said.

 

“There’s not a lot to go on,” America said, weighing the files in his hands. “It’s like someone getting dry gulched. Unless someone else saw ‘em do it, it’s impossible to figure it out.”

 

“That is part of the problem.” He sighed. 

 

“Well, if anyone’s going to figure it out, it’s us,” America said, nudging England’s boot with his own.

 

“I don't know,” England said skeptically. “If you knew a few of the others out to find him first...”

 

“Well, that’s good that more people are looking for him right? Is there a reward or something?”

 

“No, it's just individuals that the Queen has personally assigned.”

 

The carriage pulled through the gates of the palace and America smiled at some people who clearly recognized him from the last time he was here, much to England’s embarrassment. The entire concept of the “cowboy” was still taking London by storm with an influx of novels and other stories, even if the author had clearly never set foot in the western United States. England frowned, America could be such a distraction! As the carriage rolled to a stop and the door opened, America hopped out first, waiting for England on the steps. “So, what’s for dinner?”

 

“I have not paid any attention to the menu.” England scowled, but a smile edged onto his face, regardless. “Although, it will be with Victoria.” He slipped his hat on as the ascended the steps. “I am sure you can manage that, hm?” 

 

“Why wouldn’t I? I made a big splash the last time I was in London.” America grinned at him and followed him up the stairs.

 

“Yes.” England snorted. “I am sure that is how Her Majesty remembers it.” He shook his head “Your usual quarters should be ready for you to change for supper.” 

 

“I brought two different dinner jackets and I don’t know which one I should wear. Maybe you’ll have a preference?” America tossed him a sidelong glance.

 

“Not in particular. It shouldn’t matter.” England shook his head. 

 

“Sure you don’t want to help me choose?” America tugged on England’s sleeve. “We’re gonna be busy with this whole mystery thing... we might not get a whole lot of time.”

 

England glanced at him. “We can talk over tea or at meals certainly.” He paused on a higher step. 

 

America rolled his eyes and hopped up onto the last step. He leaned a little closer to him so none of the people milling in the halls would be able to hear. “I wasn’t exactly talking about talking in my room. But if you’re not interested I guess I’ll see you at dinner.” America walked past him and threw one last look over his shoulder.

 

With a red face, England called after him, “Yes, see you at supper.”

 

“If you change your mind you know where I’ll be.” America grinned at him and then disappeared around the corner.

 

***

 

Irritation. That was the name England would give America's expression when he entered the room for the evening meal. He was already seated next to Victoria and offered a smile that was returned with a frown only partially concealed by a half smile. He knew exactly what was irritating America. England hadn't showed up in the guest room. Instead, he had taken to his study to work. Patience had never been America’s strong suit. 

 

His eyes tracked England as he took his seat. “Arthur, it appears that some inventors in America have made improvements on an acoustic telegraph. I think I remembered a Mr. Bell running a patent some years ago. Isn’t that something?” Victoria said.

 

“It’s called a telephone. You can talk to someone even if you’re not standing right next to them. For example, you could have told me you were busy this afternoon.” America gave England a cool stare.

 

“Why would I need to telephone you when I told you in the hall I would see you at supper?” England countered.

 

“Plans change.” America shrugged.

 

“And mine didn't, so there is no reason for anything but amiable feelings.” England took a sip from his wine glass.

 

“Maybe amiable, but not amenable on your end apparently,” said America, taking a drink from his own glass.

 

“Because I was busy and informed you as such?” England raised a brow as the first course was brought to the table. 

 

America ignored him and started in on his meal. 

 

England rolled his eyes behind his cup, covering his snort with a cough. “If i have offended any of your sensibilities, I do apologize.”

 

An amused expression came over America’s face, but he didn’t respond to England’s apology. Instead, he gestured to a servant for some more food.

 

Shaking his head, England turned his attention to Victoria, dinner passing by with no conversation passing between the two nations. Exiting the dining hall England rubbed at the back of his neck with a sigh. He needed to look over the files.

 

Catching up to him, America caught England by the elbow outside his door and propelled him inside the room and shut the door behind him. When England flashed him a look, he said, “If you’re going to be holed up in your study, I am too.”

 

England scowled pulling his arm free. “Oh really now? After childishly ignoring me all throughout supper?”

 

“I was paying close attention.” America caught him around the waist and pulled him close.

 

England arched a brow. “Oh really? I was positive you were being rude.”

 

“I talked to your queen.”

 

“Being rude and ignoring me.”

 

“You ignored me first.” America pouted at him and took his hand, threading their fingers together. His arm wrapped around England’s waist was warm. 

 

England’s lips pursed, irritation plain on his features. “Me telling you I had to work to do, especially when you arrived unannounced, is not ignoring you”

 

“C’mon, Arthur, I’m beginning to think you don’t like surprises.” He stepped around England, still holding onto his hand and tugging him forward. “We’ve got a bad guy to catch don’t we?”

 

“Only people who aren’t right in the head like surprises. No sane person likes them.” England sniffed, snatching the files off of his desk as they stopped in front of it. 

 

“Yeah, but this surprise was me. I’ve been really busy lately.” Plucking the files out of England’s hand, America dropped onto the couch near to the gas lights.

 

England's frown deepened. “I could say so many things to that.”

 

America paused in flipping through the papers and looked up at him. “Then say them.”

 

“That would be very ungentlemanly.” 

 

“Heaven forbid.” America laughed. “Come sit with me and we’ll go through these. You know where these places are. And maybe the people too.”

 

“Of course I know.” England frowned, settling onto the cushion next to his, grabbing one of the papers. “The first victim. Mary Ann Nichols, brown hair and eyes…” He scanned the paper, looking over what little bit they had gathered from eye witnesses. The last people she had spoken to, where she had been seen. By who and when she had been found. England grabbed the next page, clearing his throat in discomfort  and he shook his head in disgust. “Absolutely barbaric.”

 

America frowned at the papers as he read over them and listened to what England was saying.

 

Plucking the next set of papers out of the folder before America could read any further, England ignored the blue-eyed man’s glare as he looked over the document. It was so new that the details were far fewer to the last. They had yet to have a witness report or even the entire autopsy report.

  
  


“Has anyone tried to figure out why? This all seems pretty personal.”

 

“Not necessarily.” England shook his head “I read the entire case file for the first woman. She was a prostitute... and if both women were killed in the same way...”

 

America tapped his chin. “If the second woman killed was a prostitute... do you think this Jack the Ripper is luring them or something?”

 

“That is quite possible. It's impossible to figure out what all happened. Or what the connection is until we receive the full autopsy report and witness reports for the second women.”

 

“How was it possible no one saw it happen? You can’t walk through east London without tripping over people.”

 

“Like I said, there are plenty of witness reports for the first woman. But they hadn’t released the files for the woman from this morning. That's why we will need to go back tomorrow.”

 

America leaned back against the sofa arm. “It’s just weird that no one recognized him or anything... you sure you don’t want to borrow my detectives?”

 

“No one saw the man,” England grouched. “And no! I don’t want a Pinkerton causing problems for the Yard.”

 

“You say that like they can’t be trusted. I mean, yeah, there’s some guys who aren’t above some things... but your lawmen are like that too.”

 

England scowled. “I don’t want any more Americans involved.”

 

“I’ll be enough.”

 

England snorted, closing the folder. “Truest words I ever heard.” 

 

America grinned at him, not recognizing the insult. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

 

England leaned back against the arm of the couch, rolling his eyes. “Honestly.”

 

“Honest.” 

 

“So you agree then?” England said amused. “Glad to hear it.”

 

“Agree with what?”

 

“That you are honestly insufferable.” 

 

“And you’re honestly no gentleman.” America leaned over to settle the papers on the floor.

 

England’s playful gaze hardened. “As if you would know.”

 

America tilted his head, giving England an appraising look. A lopsided smile stretched across his face. “I know the sky is blue and grass is green.”

 

“That depends on so many factors,” he argued. 

 

“Yeah, like you being too literal?” 

 

“And you not paying attention to detail?”

 

“I know a lot of details. Like when you’re making the face you are making right now you want me and don’t want to admit it.”

 

England turned several shades of red, a mix of embarrassment and offense. “Excuse me!?”

 

Scooting forward, America picked up the leg England had stretched over the couch and put it in his lap. “And now you’re wondering what I’m gonna do. I wonder if you can puzzle it out?”

 

England bristled. “I am not in the mood for games, Alfred.”

 

“Come here,” America said, reaching out for England’s hand. He took it, trying to keep his face stern as America pulled him into his lap. “Let me take care of you.”

 

“We are supposed to be working on a case!”

“And you’re so wound up you can’t think clearly.”

 

“You know exactly what I'm going through and you’re going to tell me I'm wound up?”

 

“Then let me help you out. I’m good for a lot of things.” He pressed a kiss to the underside of England’s jaw, arms tightening around his waist. England rolled his eyes to the ceiling and heaved a sigh. America made a frustrated noise against his throat. “Last time I try to be nice to you.” He chuckled. “Fine, you want to keep investigating?”

 

“Absolutely no sex appeal.”

 

“I figure you like me for more than that, but...” He stood up, England having to cling to him to not tip over backward. “How’s this?” America kissed him, blocking any remark he could make for a moment. 

 

England kissed him back lazily, mind running over the case files. It still made no sense. There was little to no connection to it all. A religious zealot perhaps? Encouraged by England’s return of the kiss, America carried him towards the bedroom. He tipped him backward and pressed him into the bed covers. Eyes widening England paused in  surprise. That had escalated quickly. Turning his head he cleared his throat. 

 

“What?” America leaned up and looked down at him. 

 

“Sorry Alfred... I’ve got a lot on my mind right now and I don't think...” He shook his head.

 

America dropped off to his side. “I’ve been worried about you.” He reached out and touched England’s cheek. “You look tired.”

 

“I am not sure if that is an insult or not.” England scowled, sitting up and drawing one leg to himself. “I am perfectly well rested, thank you very much.” He sniffed, futilely patting at his hair in a miserable attempt at the straightening the persistently messy locks of blond. He was briefly reminded of the terrible mistake he had made as a child in his attempt to grow out said hair in the French fashion, he had resembled a rat’s nest. While he had raged at France for cutting it all off when he had asked the him for a trim, silently, he had been thankful. He was glad photographs had not been invented for he would have to lead a personal crusade in tracking down and obliterating any likeness. Resting his chin on his knee, he pondered everything going on at the moment. From all the petty squabbles, to things that could tip nations into war. It was ironic really. That there were such things going on in the world and somebody saw it the fit time to go around and murder prostitutes. Laughable. Almost like some jealous lovers quarrel. Like someone had yanked the strings on a corset, England snapped to attention. “A jealous lover!”

 

America sat up, giving him a curious look. “What jealous lover?”

 

“Either that or a religious zealot!”

 

“Who?” His brow furrowed for a moment. “If you’re talking about the murderer, that doesn’t really narrow it down much. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of both in London.”

 

England have him a dirty look. “You haven't let me elaborate, Alfred. Everyone has only been looking at men. I'm thinking jealous loved or zealot that is a woman”

 

“A woman?” America looked incredulous.

 

“Yes, it makes sense! Think about it. This does seem very personal.”

 

“Why wouldn’t she just go after her husband then?”

 

“Doesn't want to ruin her marriage. Can't have a divorce. And often it's the other woman blamed for wrecking the marriage. Not the unfaithful”

 

America’s brow furrowed. “Even if that made sense. Doesn’t narrow it down.”

“It does make sense,” England argued. “And it does help narrow it down. So far, it's been a man only we've considered.”

 

“How would you even begin to figure out who it could be? Or rather who she’s married to?”

 

“Check the men the dead women were overly close to and then see if any are similar. This also might not be one person... possibly copycat murders.”

 

“So, what? You’re gonna talk to someone and asked them if they’d been paying a prostitute? I doubt many of them would tell you.”

 

England arched a brow. “I won't be undercover during this portion.”

 

“You’re planning on throwing your weight around as England?”

 

“I plan to use my title as Lord Kirkland,” he said flatly

 

“How is  _ Lord  _ Kirkland going to get someone to come clean?”

 

Eye twitching England cleared his throat “People want to help someone of power so that they can later ask for a favor later on or at least have a story for the pub that someone of high importance came to them for help.” He glared. 

 

“Well, la di da.”

 

England scowled, getting to his feet. “Well, how about you stay here then? I don’t want any negativity on my first stop.”

 

“Wherever you’re going, I’m going. Where are we going?”

 

“We are going to the bawdy house.” 

 

“In the middle of the day?”

 

“Of course in the middle of the day.” He tucked the papers inside of the folder and grabbed his hat with determination and haste. Then he faltered and turned to look at America as the nature of the other’s question caught up to him. “Alfred... have you never been to a house?”

 

“Not on purpose.” 

 

“I won't judge you if you say yes. Every man goes.”

 

“It’s a funny story actually. We were out in Cheyenne and... wait, do you go to them?”

 

“I have.” England shrugged as they left the room, England in the lead and America trailing behind with a conflicted expression upon his features. England waved away any attempts at conversation until they had secured a carriage and rolled away from Buckingham Palace. 

 

America settled into the cushioned seat across from England, expression of impatience on his face. “Recently?”

 

“Depends on what you consider recently.” 

 

“What do you consider recently?” America said, peering at him as if he was reading a particularly difficult text.

 

“Last one hundred years or so.”

 

“How about last fifty?”

 

“Yes.”

 

America stared at him while England settled into his carriage seat. “Have you been since, well, us?” 

 

“Well yes.” He nodded as they climbed up and set out. America looked away, color rising in his face. Taking the folder from England’s hands, America flipped through the pages, looking over the case. Leaning back, England watched the crowds move around them.

 

“Any more brilliant ideas?”

 

“Maybe after we talk to them.” 

 

“Such women are a wealth of information, men will spill their secrets under the influence of spirits and pretty women. Especially in places run by harsh businesswomen like we are going to see.”

 

“Well, you would know.”

 

England snorted. “Of course I would. Anyone who thinks that prostitutes are just that, simply prostitutes, are naive.” Crossing his legs, England leaned forward. “That's the best place to have informants. They are the most overlooked and left out women in the city yet the most informed and included.” 

 

“It’s not like I’ve never seen nor heard of one.”

 

“No, but you seem rather skittish about them. You did turn red after all. I can take care of it if you want to stay outside.”

 

“No, I’ll go with you.”

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Yes,” America said. The carriage rolled to a stop and America hopped out first, before the footman could even get to the door. “Let’s go.”

 

Stepping down slowly, England allowed the footman to shut the door behind him. “Please wait for us down the block,” he ordered and the man nodded. As the carriage rolled away, he looked at America. “Alfred, I need you to do me a favor.” 

 

“What?” America wasn’t looking at him, but instead at the nondescript rowhouse in front of them.

 

“If you recognize either Mrs. Susan or her husband you are to pretend you don’t. Do you understand?”

 

“Why would I recognize them?”

 

England sighed. “Mrs. Susan’s husband is a Pinkerton.”

 

America put his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow as he turned over this new information. “Well, that makes things more interesting.”

 

“And I don't want him sticking his nose in. And I am afraid that they have settled in east london to hide and I don’t want anything stirred up.”

 

“That might be difficult.”

 

“If you don’t have to say anything just don’t. I don’t want your accent tipping them off,” he murmured as they ascended as flight of stairs. Coy women lead men up and down them as they passed. 

 

“All right, I promise.”

 

England gave him concerned look. “Are you feeling alright?” It wasn’t like America to give in so easily. 

 

America looked at him, “I want to get to the bottom of this. I’m fine.”

 

England nodded, concerned by the odd demeanor America had taken on. “Are you certain? You could always wait elsewhere.”

 

“No, I’ll pretend I don’t know them. Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for England’s answer, but walked up towards the door. It only took moments for the front door to be opened as a pale faced woman with dark curls beamed at them. “Lord Kirkland, I take it you are here to speak with Mrs. Susan.”

 

“Of course, Rose.” England smiled, following the woman as she gestured to them. England turned to speak with her. The women always had endless tales to spin and gossip to tell. Her words kept going until she lead them into a plush sitting room where a man and woman spoke to each other heatedly. Thick American accents battled against each other, crumbling to silence as they looked to the open door. 

 

“Mrs. Susan... Captain Jackson... is this a bad time?” England frowned. The pair stepped back and the thin blond woman stepped forward with a pretty smile. 

 

“Of course not, Lord Kirkland. We were just finishing up a minor squabble.” She smiled and Jackson threw up his arms in irritation and slipped past them muttering to himself with a brief hello to England. England turned to look at the Pinkerton with trepidation as Jackson stopped to look at America. 

 

America gave him a smile and a nod, obviously trying to keep his promise to England. The captain stared at him for a moment longer before continuing on his way out and England sighed silently in relief.  Accepting Susan’s gesture he sat on the couch across from a plush chair, a small coffee table between them. Susan settled into a chair. Rose disappeared into the hall with promises of afternoon tea to be made. “All right, Mrs. Susan, I have a list of questions I was wondering if you had answers to.”

 

***

 

“Nothing... no leads!” England groaned as they settled back in the carriage. The crack of a buggy whip jolted the conveyance to a start on the uneven road. 

 

“You certainly spent a long time talking to some of the girls...” America grumbled from his seat.

 

“Well, yes.” England nodded. “I have spent a fair time with many of them. They are very helpful.”

 

“I’m sure they’re helpful. Since when do I have to wait outside when you take tea with someone!?”

 

“We had personal things to speak of.”

 

America huffed and pressed his shoulders into the corner of the carriage. He looked out the window. “Right, ‘personal things’.”

 

England shook his head. “How else am I going to learn the skeletons of my Parliament members and Lords?”

 

“Buy them a drink.”

 

England snorted. “It doesn't work that way.”

 

“Englishmen talk all the time. They’ll tell you anything if you flatter them enough.”

 

England bristled. “Are you trying to insult me!?”

 

America glanced over at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Just stating a fact.”

 

“What is eating at you? You've been in a foul temper all afternoon! Don't insult me because your knickers are in a twist!”

 

“Put the clues together!”

 

“I told you if you didn't want to wait around you could have gone elsewhere!”

 

America adjusted his position, huffing. “Why did I have to wait at all? Were you doing something other than gathering evidence?”

 

“I told you what I was doing!”

 

“Yeah, ‘having tea’, you couldn’t even wait until I left!” The carriage began to slow after it rolled through the palace gates. He wrenched open the door and got out.

 

“I told you that you could have waited elsewhere!” England snapped following him out. “Don't get mad at me!”

 

“And I’m going elsewhere!” America shouted back at him. “Don’t feel like you need to wait!”

 

“Where are you even going!? It's close to supper time!”

 

“I’ll eat in my room!”

 

“What is even going on?” England scowled, following him up the stairs. “Do stop shouting. I don't even know what this is about.”

 

“Really, Arthur? You really don’t understand? I want to be there and... just get out of here,” America said, reaching the door to his rooms, servants hurrying to catch up. America took the door and went inside, closing it before England got a chance to say anything. England swore loudly, running his hands through his hair. There was no reason for him to act like this! Headed towards his own chambers he muttered to himself, making a mental checklist of the day. Entering his parlor, he removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Fingers settled on his vest buttons when an idea came to him.

 

“You don't think he could be jealous?” he asked to an empty room. It was the thrill that leapt through his veins that made England nervous. There was no reason that he should be excited that America was jealous of the fact that he may have been paying a prostitute. He looked back towards the door in indecision. “No, I'll wait until after supper and he has had a chance to cool down,” England spoke to the small mint green creature that settled on his shoulder.

 

***

 

America ate without really tasting anything. He half-heartedly had thrown some of his things back into his trunk before dinner had arrived, but now he just sat on the rug in front of the fire, watching the log turn to ashes. He shouldn’t care, not really. England had not promised him a thing since he won his freedom except honesty. He’d been honest all right. Too honest. He adjusted the blanket that he’d wrapped around his shoulders.

 

“Why do you still not see?” America grumbled, picking up a small starter twig and holding it out until the end caught fire. He wished he was somewhere else. “He doesn’t even care that I’m worried about him.”

 

There was a knock on the door. “I’m fine,” he said, hoping the servant would catch his tone and walk away.

 

“You've always been a shit at lying,” England scoffed as he walked in the door

 

“You always tell me it’s rude to come in without an invite. Hmmm, I wonder where I learned it from?” America continued to look at the fire. He leaned back on his hands.

 

“I am also was not going to listen to you sit here and reject talking to me in my own palace.”

 

“You can’t make me talk to you.”

 

“No, you caved much easier as a child.” England settled onto the floor beside him.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“You are my guest. I should entertain my guests, should I not?”

 

America glanced over at him for a moment, before crossing one ankle over the other. “Don’t you have a case to solve?”

 

“It's after supper. I'm winding down for the night,” he said lightly.

 

“That so?” America said. He glanced at England again. What was he doing here? He’d expected a cold looks for at least the next day for losing his temper in the carriage. He couldn’t puzzle it out. 

“I can't believe you ate supper on the floor when there is a perfectly good table to use” he leaned back on his hands as well.

 

“It’s warmer by the fire. I don’t like the cold.”

 

“Good thing you don't have land further north.” England shook his head.

 

“Except that Russia sold me Alaska a few years back. I haven’t explored it yet.”

 

“I forgot about that.” He shrugged and leaned over into America's space. “I know about feeling cold. Perhaps you could warm me up? This situation... it’s been trying.” 

 

America’s eyes widened, some of his irritation drifting away. England had come to him, that had to mean something. Instinctively, he reached up, brushing his fingers over England’s cheek. England gave a small smile. “I'll take that as a yes?”

 

America hesitated. England leaned forward and rested his forehead against his. His body was hyper aware of him, America wondered if that would ever change. He hoped it wouldn’t. “I can warm you up.” 

 

***

 

“Perfect,” England murmured. Tilting his head back, England coaxed the taller blond into a kiss. It took little prompting before America had his hands on him and was pulling him closer. America was hungry for everything and he could get his hands on, the American people and their personification. It made sense England’s mind supplied, when he had been conquering the world as the largest empire he had had similar hungers.

 

America leaned into him, one hand tangling in his hair, while the other settled against his lower back. With a tug, he brought him flush against him. Cradling England against him, he worked the blanket loose from behind his back and wrapped it around England. Fingers cool on his cheeks, England cupped his face as he deepened the kiss. England’s first instinct was to flip the other over, press him into the carpet and have his way with the young blond. Yet, England was fully aware that while most nights America would be excited by such a turn of events, tonight he might anger the other if he tried. Instead he remained pliant, welcoming to the soft touches of almost nauseating sweetness. He was not getting fucked tonight, and for some reason, for the first time that he could recall, England was okay with that. 

 

***

 

“Where are you going so early? You never get up early,” said America, rubbing at his face as he sat up in the bed. He put on his glasses and peered at the bedside clock. “It’s not even dawn.”

 

“It’s nothing. I just need to go see someone. Go ahead and go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.” England buttoned up his vest, peering at America over his shoulder as he dressed. 

 

America snuggled back into the blankets. “Don’t take too long.”

 

England rolled his eyes. Hours ago America was bristling with anger because he had talked to some women. Now he didn’t care at all. Shaking his head he grabbed his hat and jacket, closing the door carefully behind him. The castle was asleep at his hour, save for the servants that were beginning to wake themselves before they woke the rest of its inhabitants. “By the Goddess its cold.” England shuddered as he exited a hidden door by the edges of his rose garden that was no longer in bloom. His foots stilled for the briefest of moments as he took in the bare sight. He still hadn’t found a way to keep those blue roses alive. Glancing back at the castle, to the window that he knew America was sleeping next to, England’s mind traveled back to the last time he had sat in the hibernating garden with him. Well, with Johnny. Shaking away the nostalgia, England popped his collar in an attempt to keep himself warm and made to exit the grounds. At this time of night even London was sleeping, despite those of the night watch and the other rare souls that were plagued with duties that require them to keep the moon’s vigil. His heels clicked loudly against the cobblestone street, no noise from the day to muffle his presence. His mind slipped back to the rose garden and the blond upstairs. Shuffling sounded behind him and England turned to gently ward off whatever woman of the night was approaching him. Pain and the sound of his nose breaking was his reward. 

 

***

 

Something was wrong. America could feel it. He didn’t know what was wrong, but England hadn’t come back. When he’d seen England leaving he’d considered pushing to go with him, but he’d not wanted to stir up whatever truce they’d reached last night. 

 

He woke an hour later and had eaten breakfast by himself, reading the headlines in the newspaper about the killer wandering London’s streets. He couldn’t puzzle it out. There had to be something they were missing. He decided he would go back through the files, see if he could find something that he could share with England when he returned. 

 

It was when the clock announced it was dinner time that he couldn’t wait any longer. Something must have happened. That strange feeling that had been hovering at the back of his mind all day gained precedence. Something had happened to England when he went out, and he hadn’t been there to protect him.

 

America shrugged into his coat and walked out of the room, bumping headlong into someone.

 

“Young men these days need to watch where they are going.” The gruff voice of an older man was loud in the large hall and America found himself staring back at a man. He was well past middle age, with snow colored hair and of odd style of dress. He eyed America curiously. “And who are you to come out of little Arthur’s chambers?”

 

“I’m his friend. Who are you?” America replied.

 

The older man eyed him closely. “American,” he said flatly before recognition popped into his eyes. “Ah. That must mean you are Alfred.” 

 

“Alfred F. Jones. And you are?” America repeated, curious to who this man was that knew about him.

 

“Alfred.”

 

“Yeah, that’s my name. What’s yours?”

 

“Alfred,” he repeated. 

 

America frowned. “The joke is wearing thin.”

 

“My name is Alfred, you twit.” The older man snorted, amused by his tease. 

 

“Why didn’t you just say so? Alfred what? And why are you looking for Arthur?”

 

“I did say so. You asked my name and I gave it. You didn’t ask for any further details, boy.” He shook his head. “Alfred. Alfred Lord Tennyson.” He thrust his hand forward. “And I am looking for Arthur because he never showed this morning.”

 

“The poet? I’ve heard people talk about you.” America realized the second part of what the man had said. “What do you mean he never showed up?” That feeling that something was wrong intensified.

 

“Of course, you have. Everyone has, well except for those under rocks.” He chortled and then shook his head. “He was supposed to meet with me this morning and he never arrived.”

 

“Where?”

 

“At my place here in London.”

 

“Show me where. Something must have happened to him.”

 

Tennyson turned slowly. “You do know he can handle himself, right?” He moved slowly down the hall. “But I guess I can show you.”

 

“I should have gone with him...” America muttered as they got further down the street. When Tennyson mentioned that his London home was right ahead, America noticed something on the side of the street. He reached down and picked up the button that had fallen on the side of the street. He recognized it, he’d had to sew it back onto England’s coat once. It had been crooked ever since, but England had never gotten it properly fixed. “Arthur...” He looked around, trying to catch sight of anything else.

 

“You sure that is his, lad?”

 

“I’m pretty familiar with this button. It got cracked one time. See?” He handed it over and that was when he caught sight of the splotches on the ground. Rusty red. He wished he didn’t know what it was immediately, but he’d seen more than his share of blood in his life. “Someone grabbed him. They had to have surprised him otherwise he would have never gotten taken.” Worry welled up in his stomach. London was the biggest city in the world. He had no idea where to start looking.

 

Tennyson heaved a large sigh .“Should of made later plans with the Scuttlers running about for some reason.” 

 

“The Scuttlers?” America asked, turning back towards the elderly man.

 

“The Scuttlers. Youth gangs known in the area for their violence. They’ve been acting up for about twenty something years or so. The last turf war had... I think the papers said five hundred people. Massive groups.” He shook his head. “They have been prowling again. Everyone waiting for another break out.” 

 

“Where do they hide out?”

 

“That's one of the problems. They don’t truly have set base.” 

 

“I need to find them. If the group can get so big there has to be a way to find them.” 

 

Tennyson shrugged. “I could certainly ask around.”

 

“That’s going to take too long. I’m going to go look. I’ll be back here tonight if I can’t find anything. If there’s a ransom note or anything. I’ll need that.” 

 

Tennyson paused for a moment. “Well, a ransom note would make sense. He is a Lord.” 

 

“I’m going back to the palace, see if anyone has sent anything. If you hear anything, you can send me word there.”

 

“Of course. I am sure Arthur is fine.” He patted America’s arm. 

 

“I would love to be wrong about this.” He hurried away hailing a hackney cab to take him back to the palace. Inside, America found the nearest servant to ask if anything had arrived. Nothing. No one even seemed worried. "If anyone asks I’m going out into the city. I’ll be back by dark.”

 

***

 

They had lit the lamp by the time he got back. It had been an awkward moment with a newer palace guard that didn’t recognize him, but luckily that was cleared up quickly. He walked back to England’s rooms and felt at a loss. He couldn’t find him. Dropping down into one of the armchairs near the fire, America leaned back and tried to hold back the emotion in his chest. Tennyson hadn’t heard a thing. No one was able to tell him anything about the gang. Or rather they wouldn’t tell him. 

 

Maybe he would go back out. Find those people again and demand they tell him where they’d taken him. It might create a bit of a problem, but he would do it for England. America bit his lip. They wouldn’t hurt him would they? He was their nation! 

 

He got up, pushing away from the chair. But the door opened before he even got there. England strode in, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning. “Bloody hell, I need a drink.”

 

America blinked, taking in England’s slightly ruffled appearance. Then he crossed the space between them and yanked him into a hug.

 

“That hurts! Alfred, what are you doing!?” England grunted as his back popped.

 

“You’ve been missing all day! I thought you were kidnapped!” He released him so that he could put his hands to his cheeks and looked over him. “Someone hit you!”

 

“It should be better by the morning.”

 

“Who hit you?” America held him by the chin and tried to examine the swelling on England’s face.

 

“Just some punks.” He shrugged, brushing America's hand away. “I am fine.”

 

England brushed past him, making his way towards the small case where America knew he kept his liquor. America crossed his arms. “I’m not fine! You go out and then you don’t come back... for all I know someone could have tried to kill you and your detectives wouldn’t have been able to figure it out!”

 

England scowled and whipped around. “I can't believe you just said that.”

 

“Which part do you take more issue with? The fact that I was worried about you or that I questioned the ability of your police force!”

 

“You are really going to go after my police?! At now of all times?” England hissed, clutching at a decanter of whiskey.

 

“Maybe if more of them were patrolling where they should be...” America suddenly felt tired. He walked back to his chair and sat down. He looked up at England. “I would have found you.”

 

“Well, I spent the day with the police, they are more than capable,” England said tightly. 

 

America frowned at him, looking away and back at the fire. “When we’re working on something together, don’t do this to me. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

 

“I'm not keeping you in the dark. You need to remember that I can't tell you everything that is going on with me. You're no longer privy to everything that happens, hence there are some things that you can't be a part of no matter how much you want to be.”

 

“I...” America adjusted his glasses. “That’s not what I’m asking. I can’t tell you everything either. But when we’re working together, you need to trust me.”

 

England through his hands up in the air. “I get kidnapped by a gang and all of sudden I don't trust you?”

 

“Oh, so now it’s a gang!?” America crossed his arms, annoyance crossing his face. “I thought it was just some punk.”

 

England frowned. “I stopped by Lord Tennyson’s place on the way back. I know he talked with you. He was right about which group it was.”

 

“I looked everywhere for you! No one would tell me where they were! Why did they take you?”

 

“Well, uh…” England hesitated “I’m afraid that's privileged information.”

 

America pushed up from his seat, turning away toward the door. He fully intended to walk out. He had his hand on the door when he stopped. “I’ll get some stuff to clean up your face,” he said, stepping out into the hall.

 

***

 

England heaved a sigh as the the door slammed shut behind America. Pulling at his collar he set the decanter down and headed for his room, knots un knotted, buttons unbuttoned, clothes dropped where they must. Grabbing the pitcher on his dressing table he poured the lukewarm water into the basin. He needed to wash, eat, and get back to work. America left tomorrow. The hand dipping the washcloth paused before he rung out the cloth, running it over his face and neck with a sigh of relief. He felt filthy and this was just what he needed. When was America leaving tomorrow? Morning? Evening?

 

***

 

America hadn’t needed to go far to find someone to fetch him some medical supplies. Another servant went to see if there was anything that could be sent up from dinner. Returning, he caught sight of England fumbling with a button on his pajama shirt. Loose fitting button shirts and pants had come into fashion around the time of his civil war but had taken some time to become a common sight. “I’m still not used to those things. They’re probably going to stick though, huh?” he said, announcing his presence to England. 

 

England tensed, before focusing on the task at hand. “It will likely come and go.”

 

“They’re going to bring you something to eat,” America said, sitting down on the bed. “You’ve spent a lot of time doctoring me, it’s my turn. Come over here.”

 

“You sent for supper? Perfect, I wanted something sweet.” He folded his arms as America held up a small medical kit. “You do know I'll be fine in a day or so time. It's only a broken nose.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you need to walk around like that. I don’t think your queen would be too happy about it. Come here,” he repeated.

 

England frowned. “I am quite all right, I don't need any aid. Thank you for your concern, however.”

 

“Why are you being such a jackass?” 

 

“And why are you being such a child?” His hands fell on his hips. He huffed when his wet bangs obstructed the top of his vision. He was overdue for a haircut.

 

America stood up, leaving the medical box on the bed and walking over to him slowly as if England were an animal that was about to bolt. “It must hurt and it doesn’t have to. I won’t touch you if that’s what you want.” The combination of England’s usual disheveled appearance accompanied by the swelling on his face made him look wilder than usual. 

 

England blanched “Is that what you think? That I don't want you touching me?” He looked at America in disbelief and surprise.

 

“You’re making such a fuss about me doctoring you...”

 

“Because I just want to eat, drink, and sleep.” He groaned. “Is that honestly too much to ask”

 

“No.” America reached out, taking England’s fingers that weren’t holding the glass. “It’s not.”

 

England heaved a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. “Thank you”

 

“I’m glad you’re back. Did you learn anything about the case?” He threaded his fingers through England’s. There was a knock at the door and a servant announcing they had brought the meal. “Where do you want it?” America asked.

 

“Parlor.”

 

“I’ll tell them.” America stepped out, taking another deep breath. He realized as he walked away he wasn’t angry at England. He was angry about the secrets and the fact that they couldn’t tell each other everything. He was angry at himself for not insisting he go with him that morning. They weren’t just themselves. They had to think about their people and even though their people could be close sometimes, there was always going to be something separating them. Even when he still belonged to England it had been the ocean. That wasn’t going to change any time soon. He directed the servants to leave the food and sat down on one end of the couch. It was hard to be patient, but maybe England would tell him if he waited.

 

Walking out of the bedroom England walked over to the small table and lifted the lid from the silver platter. “Bread pudding.” He grinned. 

 

America smiled at him, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on the bruises on England’s face. 

 

Grabbing the bowl and spoon, England settled into an armchair across the way, drawing his feet up underneath himself. “So... what time are you leaving tomorrow?”

 

“I think I need to be at the docks near noon? Afternoon boat.”

 

He nodded “All right.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just wondered when you were leaving.”

 

“Well, now you know.” He chuckled when England finished practically devouring the bowl. “Feel better?”

 

“Nearly.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

 

America cocked his head. “Nearly?”

 

“Tea and bed.”

 

“Of course.” America chuckled.

 

England rolled his eyes “You make no sense.”

 

“About as much sense as you.”

 

England scowled, heading for the bedroom. “I'm going to forgo tea tonight” 

 

Surprised, America got up and followed him. England walked directly to the bed and climbed beneath the blankets that had been drawn down by a servant. He pulled the heavy fabric over his head. There was silence. Without asking, America kicked off his shoes and pulled off his outer clothes until he was dressed down to his long underwear. He climbed into bed and pressed his body against England’s back, pulling him into his arms. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I leave,” he said.

 

England chuckled. “You think I'm going to be whisked away by the fae?”

 

“Who knows. Although, bad people are more likely than fairies.”

 

England rolled his eyes, rolling onto his back to look at the younger nation “Honestly? You think someone will get all the way in here to try and get to me?”

 

“If someone does, I’m here to protect you.”

 

“You think you’re one of those frontier characters that always saves the day?”

 

“Reading all those dime novels has to get me somewhere,” America teased back. He pressed a kiss to England’s temple. “You’re stuck with me.”

 

“The irony of that statement.” He rolled his eyes before closing them.

 

America didn’t respond, feeling sleepy as the bed warmed with their body heat. He needed to pack his things and leave in the morning. He didn’t like the idea of leaving behind the case, but there wasn’t much more either of them could do if no more evidence came forward. He let sleep pull him down, England warm in his arms.

 

***

 

_ November 23, 1888 _

 

_ Dear Alfred, _

 

_ I am writing to you as promised in regards to the Jack the Ripper Case. Unfortunately, all I can say is that nothing more has been found. Since your abrupt departure back in September to Paris there have been three more solid victims found, and several others that have not been solidly tied back to this slaughter case, seven more as of three days ago.  We have gathered a small list of suspects yet cannot release any names yet as the majority of them have little to no evidence. To be frank we are no further along in finding this disgusting murder than when you left. One comment about my police force and we shall have a problem.  _

 

_ All I have to say is that the gruesome murders have still continued and I can offer no solid information as to when we shall have the killer behind bars on a noose preferably.   _

 

_ Regards,  _

 

_ Arthur _


	6. The Truth is Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Alrighty, folks, we are now in the final stretch! 
> 
> Just wanted to thank everyone for reading and for those leaving feedback thank you so much! As we are over here working 60+ hrs a week and trying to be adulty-adults and doing all the fun WW1 research (CANNOT WAIT FOR WW2 IT WAS DOCUMENTED SO MUCH BETTER ) it is always nice to see people are still involved in this beast of a fic. Really adds that little bit of push we need to finish these last two books. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ~ Ashels

_February 13th, 1895_   
_Buckingham Palace, London_

The scratching of his pen against the paper was applauded by the crackle of the fireplace in his office. If there was one steadfast thing in a rapidly changing world it was the fact that there would never be a shortage of paperwork to be done. Just three years ago the next in line to the throne, Albert, passed away and now George was up and then married. Finishing signing the last document in the current pile, England laid down his pen rubbing his hands. Even with the fireplace at full height the chill still clung to stone walls and crept through the castle. It was freezing, one of the coldest winters on record for the British Isles and North America if Canada’s letters were anything to judge from. It was becoming detrimental to the functioning of the British economy. The river Thames was frozen over, causing mass unemployment and delay of shipments.

Pushing away from the desk, England moved over to stand by his fireplace, crouching down to warm his hands. The outcome of this shipping season looked rather bleak indeed. But, as always, the British people endured. A smile crept onto his face at the thought of Friday last. As a result of the inclement weather people had taken advantage of it all, holding winter festivals, skating on the Serpentine lake of Hyde Park, and using the funds to help aid those soup kitchens that were now taking care of all the poor and even offering vendor jobs to those who found themselves out of work. Up to fifty thousand people had been reported skating at the lake and even England had popped in on a speed skating race just last week. Sitting down on the thick rug in front of the fire England propped his chin on his knee, allowing his mind to wander further. He really had much to do and America was supposed to arrive with some delegates regarding coal shipments. But for the time being the fire was a much better thing to be occupied with.

***

America shivered despite the layers of clothes that he had wrapped himself up in. It had been colder than usual, wreaking havoc on the livestock industry as people tried to figure out how to keep the animals warm when they could barely keep their own homes heated.

The crossing had been brutal as the ship got stalled multiple times as they tried to make their way around ice that would have punched holes in the hull.

The doors opened and he walked the halls that were mapped on his mind. England was sitting by the fire when he entered, glancing over his shoulder as America was announced. Still, in his layers, America sat down next to him. “Cold today.”

“That is the understatement of the century.” England’s nose wrinkled. The cold was practically pouring off the American. “Hot tea please... and coffee,” England ordered Samuel, his servant, the door shutting swiftly.

“If you stop moving the ground freezes your boots to the ground in some places,” America said. He shivered, stretching his mittened hands toward the fire. “I guess it’s been like that on this side, too?”

“I do think we've had it worse than you to be honest.”

“Say that when you find out the cost of beef cows next year.” America shook again as though he could sluff off the cold. He leaned a little so he could press up against England. “It’s been a while. I missed you.”

“It has been a while. Eight years I believe.” He leaned away from America. “Take off your wraps, they are cold. You’re freezing me out.”

Shifting, America began unwrapping the layers of scarves, hats, and three coats until he was down to a wool long-sleeved shirt. “Better?”

“Watching you be ridiculous is the norm, so yes, better.” England nodded, leaning back on his hands. “I am guessing the weather made you late.”

“Well, the ship sinking would have made me even later.”

“Semantics.” England shrugged.

America settled back on his hands and then decided to just stretch out on the rug. “I’m here now though. There’s a lot of business to deal with.”

“That has to yet be another understatement.” England rolled his eyes, turning to peer at America. “I am honestly surprised you showed up. With the weather and all.”

America stretched his arms over his head, taking up some more space. “I was kind of hoping it would be warmer over here. They say time waits for no man, or a nation I guess. And... I may have had some selfish motives.”

“Well, it’s obviously colder,” England said flatly, waving for the tray to be set on the carpet as Samuel brought it in. He reached excitedly for the silver cigarette case as the drinks were poured. “Selfish motives you say?”

“Well, it’s always warmer when you’re in my bed.”

“Seriously?” England put the silver case down to take the cup Samuel handed to him. “You came across the Atlantic to get in my bed?”

“No, I have work to do, but it was certainly an incentive.” He laughed. “I could use some warming up, and you look like you could too.”

England shook his head as he sipped the hot tea, watching the steam stark against the cool air. “Of course. As long as it helps the crown I suppose.”

“Mutually beneficial arrangement.” America smiled at him. “Strengthen international bonds.”

England eyed the door to his office as it clicked shut behind Samuel, waiting for a few moments before looking back to America. “That is a very lofty and diplomatic way to describe coming across the ocean for a tiff... although I prefer amorous congress if we are going to be using euphemisms.”

“Amorous congress, I like the sound of that.” America leaned up on his elbows.

“Do you? Sounds rather professional does it not?” He crossed his ankles.

America sat up, leaning over so he could reach over and take England’s chin in his hands. “Shall we start negotiations, then?”

“Well you’re rather quick to the race aren’t you?” England set down his cup, leaning into the other’s touch. “I thought you were here for business Master Jones?”

Brushing his fingers over England’s cheeks, America hooked one hand behind his neck. “Business can wait. I’ve missed you.”

“Ah, have you?” A teasing smirk curled the left side of England’s mouth upwards. “Well, actions do speak louder than words, old boy.”

America smiled back at him, leaning forward to start with a light kiss, barely a brushing of lips. Before England could press back, America was gone, mouth on his cheek, his jaw, hooking an arm around his waist to draw him closer.

Tilting his head back England gave a sound of approval, one hand running along the seam of America’s pants, the other over the fibers of the carpet. “You do know Victoria will be demanding us at dinner.”

Lips brushing against England’s ear as he spoke. “That gives us a few hours doesn’t it?”

“Except she has been taking meals early in the efforts of conserving energy due to the coal crisis.” He laid back on the carpet, a leg lazily hooking over America’s hip as the younger hovered over him.

“We won’t keep her waiting, I promise.” America pressed his mouth against England’s, his lips parting against the others.

England hummed in acknowledgment, opening his mouth and allowing a game of domination to begin. Wasting no time fingers made their way down to the seam of America’s suit pants, making quick work of them. That was the glory of being apart for so long a time. It really did not take that long, especially for one such as America who in the grand scheme of things had just started it all.

Wriggling out of his pants, America reached between them to work on the buttons at England’s waist. England’s cool fingers brushed over his stomach and he had a small jolt but resumed his efforts at getting beneath England’s clothes.

Pulling America into another kiss, England wound his hands through the blond’s hair, pausing when a sound caught his attention. Footsteps also echoed rather impressively on the stone floors. Turning his attention back to America when they faded, England lifted his hips to allow the other to remove his trousers. Cold fingertips along the warm skin of inner thighs, jokes over bringing oils in preparation, bite marks and curses. England was just ordering America onto his belly when footsteps caught his attention once again.

Running his finger along America’s hips he coaxed the larger blond’s ass into the air, fingers stroking the American in reward. America’s hands clutched tightly at the thick red rug beneath them, blue eyes turning too peer at England from a submissive position. England shuddered. “Now, I would keep quiet if I were you. Wouldn’t want rumors started,” he whispered and the confusion in America’s eyes disappeared as he was rocked into. England briefly realized that this was certainly the first time that he had taken America in such a position and that he should have warned America of the advantages of this specific form. England swore silently as the footsteps stopped outside the door as his hips fell into a carnal rhythm.

A series of hard knocks sounded on the door and America’s blue eyes snapped wide open, shock widening them as England answered, yet continued. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir, I was sent to ask you about the specifics regarding changes to Lily’s stabling once again due to the weather.”

“Ah, yes. I expect you were instructed to bring a pen and paper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I am afraid you shall need to take note from the hall for now. Are you ready?” England paused inhaling deeply as the other rocked into him violently. “There's the sweet spot,” he whispered, leaning over America’s back as the boy squirmed. He warned the other to remain quiet with subtle amusement, watching the other closely as he began his list of expectations.

“Arthur, you...” America grumbled, fingers digging into the carpet as England continued his list. America got more leverage with his knees and pushed back hard as England was moving forward. England’s words faltered, a groan rumbling from his throat.

England cleared his throat. “Sorry about that, damn pen always breaking. Just a moment while I regain my train of thought.” His fingers dug into America’s hips in warning. “Do you want me to stop? Because either you let me fuck you or you can go finish yourself off in the damn guest wing,” England snarled quietly, bending over America.

“You better finish your dictation,” America said into the floor.

England practically hissed with irritation before looking at the door, and sitting back on his heels, staying there, eyeing the other who looked at him in disbelief. “All right Samuel... yes, I did want to make sure that she had a double thick, wool blanket, none of this cotton nonsense right now.” England held tightly onto America’s hips. Fine, if America wanted him to focus on his list than that is what he would do, although America would have to endure it with him seated inside.

America tried to shift, but England’s hands tightened, holding him in place. “Fuck...” he whispered. “Arthur... C'mon...”

“You are the one who wanted me to ‘finish my dictation’ remember?” England hissed, rocking forward to adjust his knees. “You could have just let me fuck you until you couldn’t think straight,” he whispered, listening to Samuel repeat the list back to him. He leaned over America’s back to speak quietly to the other. “I had every intention to fuck you senseless while I took care of that. Could you imagine? Me fucking you, so close to being caught by one of the palace servants just on the other side of the door? I had every plan of watching you come undone while I made my list. Scrabbling against the rug, smothering your moans into the ground. Who knows? Possibly pushing you to endure a whole second round so by the time I was done with work it would be my turn. I’d have you exhausted for supper. But no,” he grouched, straightening again, reaching around with one hand to lazily keep the other from faltering. “No, you just have to wait for me to finish with this,” he muttered, turning his attention to correcting Samuel’s list.

“Fucking tease...” America groaned.

England ignored the other, refusing to look at him until this was finished, focusing on his conversation with his valet, only pausing every so often to firmly remind the other that the predicament they were in was only one of their faults. England wasn’t sure how many minutes went by, but when Samuel’s footsteps faded down the hall England released a loud sigh, finally looking down at America.

He was muttering curses into the pattern of the carpet. Sweat was causing the back of his shirt to stick to his skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for this...” he grumbled, a playful threat in his voice.  
  
“Oh really now?” England drawled. “If I remember correctly you’re the one who interrupted your own sound fucking.” He rocked off of his heels. “And how am I going to pay?” he breathed in deeply through his nose before beginning to move once more.

“You’re gonna find out.”

“Really? Perhaps we should stop and discuss it then?” he swallowed. He wasn't sure how much longer he could manage this game.

America bucked back into him. “Don’t stop.”

“Then stop talking,” England grunted. He would have to send the carpet to be cleaned. They found a rhythm after a few minutes, the room filled with their sounds of passion. They couldn’t think of anything than what their bodies wanted from one another. England barely had to touch America before his body released, England’s following after a few more thrusts.

“Fuck,” England grunted as he rolled onto his back, catching his breath. “We shall need to change before supper.”

America breathed heavily against the floor. He shifted so he could lean up over England on still shaking arms. “You are a jackass,” he said, no venom in his voice. He leaned down before England could respond and kissed him.

England gave him a smug look when the other pulled away to breathe. “I don't hear you complaining.”

America shook his head, laying down, stretching out on top of England and resting his head on the other’s chest.

“You made me pay all right.” England cleared his throat, hand lying in the small of America’s back.

“It’s a tactical retreat.” America closed his eyes, body heavy against England. “I need to regroup first.”

“Ah.” England rolled his eyes, glancing back at the fireplace. This was odd. An odd feeling of contentment settling heavy in his belly.

They were quiet for a time, England running a hand absentmindedly up and down America’s back and America pressed against him. “How much time do we have before dinner?” he asked.

England glanced over at his jacket on the floor, just within his reach. Reaching over, he fished around the waist pocket and pulled out his watch. Flipping it open he glanced at hands. “Just a little over an hour.”

“Hmmm, then we have time.” America shifted up and pushed up England’s shirt, pressing his mouth to England’s stomach.

England's breath caught in his throat for the shortest moment. “Alfred, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He moved his mouth lower.

England gave him an odd look, tensing, tracing his fingers along America’s hairline he dropped his head back against the carpet. It was odd for America to be so forward. America moved lower, making a pleased sound as England’s fingers tightened on his hair.

“Alfred!” Back arching sharply, England moaned quietly in praise, toes curling in the carpet. “Fuck, Alfred.” He exhaled hard through his nose, thigh muscles flexing. When did he get so good?

Slowly, America drew back, looking up at him mischievously. “Hmmm, maybe now is a good time to discuss those coal contracts? Or maybe I should summon my secretary and make a few lists.”

England stared at the ceiling before looking down at America in irritation. “Don’t you dare, boy.”

Kissing the inside of England’s thigh, he ran a hand over England’s stomach, carefully avoiding the part of him that wanted attention. “The coal strikes have been confusing... there have been a few fights.”

“Alfred,” England hissed.

“Then the railway workers went on strike. Ground everything to a halt. It was probably a good thing though, the workers got a few protections passed in Congress.” He pressed his mouth against England’s stomach, grazing his teeth lightly on his skin.

“You have one more chance before I have you escorted to the guest wing,” England snapped, moving to push America back by his shoulders.

  
“You’re lucky I’m nice to you.” America gave him a look and moved lower once again, renewing his previous actions with additional fervor.

“Fuck,” England muttered, dropping his head back against the carpet. Running his hands through his hair, England fisted the blond strands between his knuckles, hips canting, only stopping when America held him down. “Alfred, I...” he warned.

A determined furrow appeared between America’s brows. He kept it up until England cried out. Pulling back, with a slight cough, he moved so he could lay by England’s side.

With eyes closed, England panted quietly. “You aren’t supposed to swallow.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” He reached out and ran his hand through England’s hair.

England’s nose wrinkled and turned to look at him. “Been practicing?” he asked jokingly, yet an odd feeling burned in his belly at the thought.

“Huh?” America said.

“You suddenly got so good at that.”

“Maybe you just forgot since the last time.” America propped his head up on one arm.

“Hm,” England sighed, stretching across the carpet, joints popping.

America glanced over at him. “Have you been ‘practicing’?”

“Don’t start.” England sighed, turning towards the fire.

Sitting up, America reached for his clothes. “I suppose I should get cleaned up.”

“I can have Samuel set the large bath.” He rolled onto his belly to look at America.

America watched him for a moment and then gave him a small smile. “That would be nice.”

Pushing to his feet England walked across the study to pull on the cord. “He will be able to guess what I am needing.”

“Sounds handy.”

“It’s why I told you more than once that you should have staff.” England walked back over to the fireplace but instead of sitting back down he grabbed the silver case and took out a cigarette. Lighting it, he watched as America’s nose wrinkled. “Oh come off it, Alfred.”

“I’ve just been smelling it my whole life, gotten kind of tired of it. It was a little different when it was just piped.” He got up from the floor, picking up some of his clothes.

England fell silent for a moment before offering, “I do have opium if you want to smoke that again.”

America looked up at him, surprise on his face. Then he colored at the memory of what had happened the last time they had been high on the stuff. “I thought that was illegal now.”

England laughed. “It was technically illegal in England when we smoked it last.”

“I could barely remember what we’d done last time.”

England reclined, naked, in his office chair “don't worry. I remember for the both of us.”

“I like remembering.” America came closer, leaning over the chair and pressing a kiss to the top of England’s head. “How long until the bath is ready?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes most likely.”

“Hmmm.” America walked over to the desk and leaned against it. “What should we do?”

“Well, I plan to finish my cigarette and possibly polish off my decanter. I don't know about you though.”

America looked over at the stoppered glass filled with amber liquid sitting on England’s desk next to a half-empty glass. Picking it up, America pulled out the glass stopper and tipped it back.

“Alfred! England grabbed the arms of his chair, leaning forward.

He stopped before any of it ran out. “Maybe I’ll have some.” He put the neck of it to his lips and took a drink.

England relaxed. “For f- Alfred you can't be drunk at dinner with Her Majesty.”

“It takes more than a swallow.” He set it back down.

“That's not what it looked like.”

“You’re going to tell me I can’t have a drink, but you wanted to smoke opium?” America smiled at him, leaning back on his hands.

“I didn't say before dinner.” England scowled looking up as there was a knock on the wall. “Tub is ready it seems. Shall we?”

***

February 14th, 1896  
London, England

“What’s that?” America asked, stepping into England’s parlor and trying to straighten his bow tie. England leaned up from the flowers he was carefully arranging.

“It's a bouquet,” he said flatly. “I know I taught you the word.”

“I know that, is it for Valentine’s Day?”

“Well... um... yes, I suppose since they arrived today.” He touched the petals lightly.

America walked up to them and touched one of the roses. “National flower.”

“Look at you remembering your history lessons.” England laughed, patting America’s cheek.

“It’s easy to remember since people think it should be mine, too.” He stepped around the large vase so England couldn’t see his face. “It’s not official or anything though.”

“That might be nice.” England lifted a thin shoulder in a shrug. “Sharing the same flower.”

“Really?” America asked, glancing at him through the flower stems.

“Well, yes. One would think it makes sense. The original thirteen did belong to me at the start.”

“There are 45 now,” America said quietly. “I’m a little worried about going to the theater,” he added, fiddling with the petals of one rose.

“The theatre?” England peered around the flowers. “Is that where we are going?” The other had kept it a secret all night where they were to spend the evening.

“Her Majesty said you wanted to see Mr. Wilde’s play. I just... the last time I went to the theater, it didn’t go so well.”

England felt his stomach drop for two different reasons. “Perhaps we go do something else then.”

“No, I know it was a long time ago, but I owe you a trip to a play.” He gave him a small smile.

England paused, his fingers had gone back to idly playing with the roses. “Oh?”

“It was... before my Civil War I think. I... well, I couldn’t bring myself to buy box seat tickets so we’ll be in the crowd with everyone else. Is that okay?” America fiddled with the hem of his jacket sleeve.

“Of course it’s fine,” England assured him. “I told you, we can do something else. There always is skating.”  
  
“That sounds fun... but can we try? Will you be my backup at the theater?”

“Your backup?” His fingers left the pink roses and walked around the table.

“In case I need to leave... I haven’t wanted to go alone, but I used to like the theater and... I wanted to have a better memory.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “Is that foolish?”

“No... it sounds sensible,” England admitted.

“I, uh, got something else for you, too. Do you want it now or later?”

England eyed him carefully, before closing the space between them. “I don’t know. Is it going to make us late?”

“Not unless you’re a slow reader.” America smiled at him.

England gave him a wary look. ‘I'll take it now.”

Stepping away to walk back into the bedroom, America returned a moment later with a small envelope. “It’s the thing now ain’t it?”

England took a deep breath, eyeing the envelope as if it was a venomous snake. “Perhaps I shall take a look at it after the play instead.”

“If that’s what you want. Okay, let’s go.” He set the card down on the table next to the flowers, his fingers lingering on it for a moment. He looked back up at the flowers and then back to England. “Shall we?”

***

England was completely enraptured by the play. Getting in had been a bit of a bottleneck as England neglected to inform America that he had his own viewing box, reserved at all times for the royal family. It had taken a bit of insisting, but they had finally made it to their seats on the floor and by the time the lights had dimmed and the stage lit England had assured America all was well and had turned his attention to the entertainment.

“How you can sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless."

"Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them."

"I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the circumstances.”

England laughed loudly with the rest of the crowd, enjoyment bright in his smile.

America thought he would be all right if they were surrounded by people. If everyone was in their seats no one could sneak up on him. The play was funny and he was enjoying himself. However, something fell backstage, a loud popping sound that the actors improvised through. Everyone laughed it off. Only America had jumped when it happened, gripping his chair trying to calm his racing heart. He took a deep breath. I am not going to leave... it’s not the same thing. No one is hurt. He repeated the words over and over in his head, closing his eyes to block out the room. When cool fingers found his, America looked down. England had taken his hand. England gave him a side glance, squeezing his fingers in reassurance. He watched America for a moment before turning his attention back to the stage, his thumb rubbing soothingly.

Turning his hand over, America threaded his fingers through England’s. It felt grounding. They were palm to palm until it came time for the final applause at the end of the show.

The joined the throng of bodies leaving the theatre, looking for their personal carriage “You did very well,” England said when they climbed inside.

America smiled at him. “Thanks for coming with me. Oscar Wilde is some writer isn’t he?”

England nodded. “Yes, he is.” Leaning back against the carriage seat he sized America up. “So, I was informed at dinner that while you were... keeping me company that coal negotiations were practically wrapped up.”

“Apparently, they don’t need our opinion,” America joked. “That would mean we don’t have to go to any meetings doesn’t it?”

“That means you'll be going home early,” England said quietly.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

***

That irritated England. More than it should have. Clearing his throat, England looked out the window “it will be time to turn in when we get back”

America looked up at him. “Do you want to go ice skating? I mean, they can’t leave without me and if I’m out late...”

“Hyde Park will be closed by now.” He shook his head.

“I thought you were the British Empire? Wouldn’t that mean we’d have the place to ourselves?”

“And where do you propose we get skates at this hour, hmm? I own a pair but I don't have one for you.”

America shrugged. “I don’t know. If I’m planning on stealing the rest of the night with you where do you propose we go?”

England hesitated. “You do know that you won't be leaving right away tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Then we can just continue onto the palace.”

“All right then.”

England gave him an odd look. “When did you get so agreeable?”

“Since I decided to be.”

England frowned but said nothing else. A silence fell over the carriage until they pulled up. “I had Samuel open up your room as usual. I had him trained to the same specifications as Charles had it done.”

America gave him an odd look. “I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?” He handed off his outerwear to the maids before heading down the hall with America.

“Do you want me to go to my room?”

England looked around them. “Well, yes. It's time to turn in.”

“I thought... you don’t want me to come with you?”

England frowned. “Well, your bags are in your room as usual.”

“Well, take this.” America reached into his jacket pocket and offered up the card he’d tried to give before they’d left for the play.

England took it with a nod. “Thank you.” He saw two women coming down the hall. “I shall see you at breakfast, Master Jones.”

“See you later.” America gave him a baleful expression and turned to walk to his room.

***

England waited impatiently for America to show. He watched the hands on his pocket watch and when twenty minutes has passed he clicked it shut, stepped into his slippers, shrugged into his robe, grabbed a candle, and made his way into the servants’ passage behind a large painting. “Damn, it's cold!” he murmured, moving through the passageway. He knocked hard on the door that he knew opened into America's room, pushing it open he stepped over the lip. “You are taking forever.”

America was laying on his stomach across the bed, he looked up from his book when England pushed open the door. “Did you forget you forbade me to use the servants’ corridors?”

“I forbade you from using the servants’ halls to travel around the palace. I said between the guest room and mine was all right and more than preferable.” He stood in the doorway with an impatient expression.

“Since you’re here... we could stay in my bed.”

“And have my breakfast and such brought here? The servants will be in for a surprise when they see I'm not in my bed.” He stepped out of his slippers.

“It’s not like they wouldn’t be able to figure it out. I’m already here.” America rolled onto one side, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

“At least you keep the room hot.” He untied his robe and draped it over the chair of the writing desk. At least he wouldn't get gooseflesh being naked in this room.

“I get cold, you know that.” America watched England as he came toward him.

“Yes. Matthew finds it amusing.” England shrugged, hands rubbing against his bare thighs before climbing under the sheets.

“Can we not talk about my brother when you’re naked next to me?” America chuckled as he wrapped his arms around England’s waist.

“Well,” England sighed. “Perhaps you should take care of that. Keep me busy.”

“Did you read the card?” America scooted closer and pressed his mouth to England’s collarbone, pressing kisses along his skin.

“Not yet.” He shook his head.

“Why not?” America snuggled against him, tangling his legs with England’s.

“Just haven't.” He shrugged. “Samuel showed up with another bouquet. Apparently, this one arrived while we were out so I was placing it.”

“So many flowers, you must have an admirer,” he said, running a hand over England’s side.

“Competitors more than likely,” he hummed, arching into the touch.

“They’re trying to soften you up with flowers?” America asked, lips brushing against England’s. “Do they know it’s not gonna work?”

“Depends. Some of them are adept at the language.” England sighed breathily.

America didn’t respond at first, drawing England into a kiss. “Flowers? Didn’t Shakespeare say a rose is a rose?”

“Shakespeare said a lot of things.” England sighed, eyeing him. “Now do you want to quote Shakespeare or have me bend you over the bed?”

“You call me crude...” America laughed. “I’ll take option two.”

***

England watched America sleep, dead to the world. The fire was beginning to die and England slid out from under the blankets and walked over, wiggling his fingers and coaxing it back to life before adding a cut of the wood next to the fireplace. He went to his robe, reaching into the pocket and pulled out the small envelope America had handed him. Turning it over, he broke the seal and pulled out the card.

He had half-expected it to be gaudier, but the front was a simple lace patterned cut that had recently been mechanized by American printing presses. There was an English robin painted on the front, the feather of a much larger bird settled next to it. Swallowing, England opened the card and found America’s attempt at a neater script.

I borrowed these words from Mr. Walt Whitman. I don’t know if you ever got a copy since his collection of poems was pretty controversial at the time... but this poem made me think of you when I read it.

A glimpse through an interstice caught,  
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,  
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,  
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,  
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

England felt his cheeks darken. “You fool. Sappy and foolish.” He stared at the writing a bit longer before closing the letter. “I know I taught you better handwriting than that.” He slipped the letter back into the envelope. Placing it back down on the writing desk he moved back to the bed, dragging his fingers along the rumpled bedding as he looked over the man asleep in the bed. Man. Sliding back under the sheets England looked at the canopy. Man. When had he started thinking of America beneath that label? When had it gone from boy to youth, to man? From colony to foreign power to ally? Rolling onto his side, he looked at America closely. He was persistent he’d give him that. He swallowed, reaching out and tucking a loose hair behind America’s ear, only to watch it fall forward again. Even his hair was rebellious. Pulling his hands to his chest, England rolled onto his back. What now? He was hoping America’s infatuation would have faded out and yet it continued. Rubbing at his cheekbones, he sighed. That stupid feeling was back in his chest. Pulling the blankets up he allowed sleep to take him under.

 

 


	7. A Powerful Game of Musical Chairs

_ January 22, 1901 _

_ Osborne House, Isle Wight, United Kingdom  _

 

“Time of death, half past six in the evening,” England said quietly, the click of his pocket watch closing echoed in the bedchamber after Victoria’s last breath left her. England looked from the face of his Queen to that of his new King. Edward, the eldest of Victoria and Albert's children hovered over his mother, eyes searching hopefully for any sign that his mother had just fallen asleep. Beside him stood the eldest of Victoria’s grandchildren, Emperor Wilhelm II of Germany, a middle-aged man by this time as well. A small yip sounded at England’s feet and he looked down to see Turi. “Ah yes,” he murmured, bending down to pick up the small Pomeranian. One of Victoria’s last wishes. Leaning over he laid the hyper dog on the late Queen’s chest as she had requested be done after she breathed her last. That small dog had been a delight to the Queen after her eyesight had failed and she lost the ability to walk with her rheumatism.

 

With a tight chest, England swallowed. Victoria had become the United Kingdom’s longest reigning monarch and Queen regent thus far. Even with the eldest son, her nine children and thirty-seven grandchildren, the house of Hanover would end here. Edward belonged to Albert's house, the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. The reign of Hanover was over. 

 

***

 

_ February 10, 1901 _

_ Manhattan, New York _

 

America shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the steamship to dock in the New York harbor. He could see the large ship now, the smokestacks billowing in the cold air. England would disembark. He’d gotten the telegram from the middle of the Atlantic.

 

_ I’m coming. Stop. _

 

_ I want somewhere quiet. Stop. _

 

_ Arthur. Stop. _

 

Just those three lines. He had thought about signaling back, but he thought it would be better face to face. If England wanted somewhere quiet, he could find one. He already had his luggage packed and waiting at the train station. They would hop on it and go out west. There were quiet sleepy towns well enough. Many warm enough even in winter that he wouldn’t need the big coat that he was currently wrapped up within. The whistles blew as it came in, the tugboats chugging so the ship went in clean. The gangplanks went up and America kept a watch for messy blond hair and the telltale black of mourning.

 

England heaved a sigh as he grabbed his luggage and pulled his tall black collar up higher as he joined the throng on the deck. He waved a gloved hand at America to gain the others attention.

 

America grew worried about the dark circles beneath England’s eyes. He walked up to him and took the luggage from his hand. He’d traveled without his valet and it showed in the way his clothes were wrinkled and his tie lacked any crispness. America didn’t imagine he’d spent much time socializing on the journey over, even if it would have kept up appearances. He wasn’t sure what to say. “I... I’ve got train tickets for us. I thought we’d go to the desert. Something different.”

 

“If that's what you prefer.”

 

They made their way to the train station, milling amongst the groups of people headed to several destinations. America made sure to keep England close by. He hovered just behind him, wanting to reach out and touch him, despite the fact they were in public. Once they’d boarded, they had their own compartment and the noise of the crowds was muffled. When the train jolted to life, America scooted off his bench to sit by England’s side. He wrapped an arm around him, feeling relief that England felt solid. “You can lean on me if you want.”

 

“How long is the ride?”

 

“We’ll switch trains in Chicago. About a day.”

 

“All right.” England nodded and slumped onto the other. America rubbed his hand up and down England’s back, letting the other mold into his side. He rested his chin on the top of his hair and tried to stomp on the little spark of happiness that England was here. After all, he’d only come because he wanted to get away, but he could have been anywhere. He watched the landscape roll by outside the train window.

 

“Something to drink?” England croaked after a couple of hours. He had fallen asleep on America's shoulder from exhaustion.

 

“I can order you some tea. Or do you want something else?” America smoothed England’s hair.

 

“Something stronger." England sighed.

 

“We don’t even have to call someone for that.” America leaned forward and grabbed the satchel that he’d left on his seat. “I’ve got some whiskey.” He pulled out a silver flask, offering it to England.

 

“I knew you absorbed some of the lessons I taught you,” England said dryly, unscrewing the lid and taking a deep drink.

 

“I figured you would need it.” America leaned back against the seat and stretched out his legs to use the other side as a footrest.

 

Lowering the flask, England stared out the window silently. Moments passed before he spoke again.

 

“Where?”

 

America looked out at the scenery. “Ohio.”

 

“All right.” England took another sip, leaning back against the other. “House there?”

 

“Of course. Do you want to get off the train? I’ll have to pull some strings.”

 

“Off the train now?” England shot him a look. “Whatever for? We aren't there yet.”

 

“If you’re tired we can pull out the sleeper seat. We’ll probably get into Chicago late and then catch the afternoon train tomorrow.”

 

“No, it’s fine." He shook his head, rolling the flask between his hands.

 

America looked over at him, he glanced away and brushed his hands over his trousers. The short answers were odd. The desire to talk and fill the silence was grating on his nerves. “If you want to talk. I’ll listen. I know how much she meant to you.”

 

“I don’t want to talk.” 

 

“What do you want to do?” 

 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He shook his head. 

 

“Then come here,” America said, adjusting his position so England could lean against him. “We’ll watch the land pass. I can tell you all about it.”

 

***

 

“If you would like.” England took another drink and settled into America's side again. He didn’t really care what they did or where they went. He just needed to get away. They could have sat inside of America’s penthouse in New York for all he cared or gone to that small cottage out in Indiana. Anything just to get away. He couldn’t wait to change out of his mourning garb. It was far too much of a reminder. Victoria had worn it since Albert had died. 

 

America chattered on, telling him stories about things that had happened, some England was fairly sure were complete exaggerations. As the sky darkened, the words got fewer and far between as America drifted off against the seat. It wasn’t until the train whistle blew announcing their approach to Chicago that America started back awake.

 

“Is it going to be as quiet as California?” England asked as America sat up. He had been up for several hours.

 

“If that’s what you want.”

 

“Yes... for now.”

 

“Then yes, it’ll be as quiet as California.”

 

“Thank you," England murmured, looking at the other.

 

The train came to a stop. “We’ll just spend the night at my house here and then we’ll be on the way to the middle of nowhere tomorrow. I’ll get your bags.”

 

“All right.” Noise began to fill the hall outside of their carriage and England stopped the other from reaching up for the luggage by touching his cheek.

 

America turned to look at him. He put his hand on England’s coat sleeve and gave him a small smile. Stepping forward, England pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Let's go then.” 

 

“Sounds good,” America replied, cheeks a little pink. He gathered their luggage as they made their way off the train. Flagging down a carriage for hire, they were soon rattling down the streets of Chicago towards America’s house. It was small at the end of a street with a wrought iron fence around it. America pushed open the gate and it didn’t take long until they were inside. The entryway was cozy, a coat rack dominating one corner and linotypes arranged in their frames on the wallpaper.

 

“It’s cute.”

 

“It’s all right. I like this one.” America pointed at one of the metallic photographs. He was grinning at the photographer, a challenging feat for the exposure time.

 

“photographs of yourself why am I not surprised?” England snorted.

 

“Well... maybe I can get one of you sometime.” 

 

England hung his jacket and toed off his shoes. “Whatever for?”

 

“Because I want one,” America said. “I’m going to take the bags upstairs, do you... well, do you want your own room? Or...”

 

“You don't have servants, so it would be rude to muss another bed.”

 

“Right, wouldn’t want to do that. Make yourself comfortable.” He hoisted the bags and made his way up the stairs.

 

England moved into the kitchen in search of a kettle. It was less than likely that America would have food here. They would have to go in to town for supper. He began looking through the cabinets. America’s footsteps were loud on the stairs.

 

“There ain’t much since I figured we’d only be here for the night. I sent a note ahead, someone should be bringing something by. Chicken, I think, is what they said.”

 

England who had been on his tiptoes trying to reach the kettle on the top shelf peered over his shoulder at him. “Sweeties perchance?”

 

“Of course. Let me get that.” He walked across the room and used his slight height advantage to grab the kettle with ease. “I might have some root beer syrup laying around if you wanted something sweet before dinner. They keep saying it’s good for your health.”

 

“No, it will be fine.” He leaned back against the other before he pulled back. He was tired of everything and his strong desire to be in the other’s presence after Victoria passed had caught him by surprise. Before he knew it he had been making plans.

 

America wrapped an arm around his waist in a hug. Pressing a kiss against the back of England’s head, America turned towards the sink. “We should enjoy the indoor plumbing while we can. It’s still rustic where we’re headed tomorrow.”

 

“If that's what you want.” England nodded. He honestly didn't care, he was tired of making decisions and tired of wearing black.

 

“Go sit. I’ll get the tea set up. There’s a blanket in the cupboard in the hall if you want one.”

 

“Thank you." He slipped into the hall, moving to the linen closet. There were four blankets in the hall, he struggled, but grabbed all of them and made his way into the living room. Dropping them onto the love seat, he unfolded them one at a time before immersing himself in the massive bundle. He was freezing and this was just the ticket.

 

America came in with the teapot and a cup. “I’ll get the rest. There’s some wood out back, I’ll get some more for the fire.”

 

England took the cup, cringing as he took a sip and watched America disappear into the kitchen again. England had seen a wood box in there so that made the most sense. The living room was silent as England sipped at his tea. He stared at the empty hearth until America entered the room and placed several small logs inside and began to strike a match. England contributed with a small nudge of his own, the fire catching quickly. 

 

Fire roaring, America settled on the arm of the couch near England’s head. “Make room for me?”

 

“Well, come here." England made no move to scoot over. America could maneuver the blankets himself. He slid onto the seat, wedging himself in behind England’s back. Shifting the edges of the blankets he maneuvered England into a position settled against his chest, arms wrapped around him.

 

Turning his head England pressed his face into the crook of America’s neck, inhaling slowly. America smelt familiar, just the same. It was like the man survived off of coffee, the smell had seemingly attached itself to his skin, as well as the smell of leather, all things his people thrived off of. The air of open spaces, the underlying scent he had had when he was a colony. England relaxed against the other with a sigh. Finally, he wasn't on stage. America settled in, yawning and molding himself into a soft cushion for England. “How do you feel?” America asked, breaking the quiet of the crackling fire.

 

“Exhausted." England sighed 

 

“You kind of got hit twice, huh? The new century and having to switch rulers... I guess I’ve gotten kind of used to my presidents switching around. I don’t often have to deal with... Anyway, if you wanted to go upstairs I can wake you up when the dinner gets here.”

 

“No... I am going to stay here.”

 

“All right.” America pressed a kiss to the top of England’s hair. England hummed quietly taking another deep breath, his belly rumbling. “How long?”

 

“Soon. It’s almost eight.”

 

“Ah," England murmured, eyes flicking to the fire. It was quiet. Something he had been craving. Now that he had it, however, it was making him nervous.

 

The bell rang. “That’s gotta be it.” America climbed out from beneath England to go to the door. There was a brief exchange and soon America was rustling in the hall. “Dinner’s here, want it in there or in the dining room?”

 

“Probably should eat in the dining room.” England sighed, making no move to get up. He was comfortable and he was willing to forgo food if it meant he could stay here.

 

“There’s a lot of ‘shoulds’ right?” America brought the basket into the room and settled it next to the couch.

 

England eyed the basket. “What did you order exactly?”

 

“Chicken,” America said, starting to unwrap the contents.

 

“You said that. What else?”

 

“Looks like rolls and something green. I’ll get plates.” He left the basket and went into the kitchen. Watching America move into the kitchen England leaned forward and snagged a roll, sighing in delight when steam curled into the air as he tore it in half. Taking a bite he chewed in contentment, his name making him pause.

 

“Guess I shouldn’t have bothered.” America laughed settling on the floor with his back against England’s cushion. He reached over to the small chicken and pulled off a piece of meat and popped it in his mouth. England sniffed. 

 

“You were taking forever.”

 

“I’m all for foregoing manners.” America grinned at him and offered him a chunk of chicken.

 

“Fingers are going to be a mess." England shook his head and leaned in, eating it from his fingers.

 

“Hands wash.” America snatched up a roll. 

 

England hummed again, reaching down to grab another piece. He was suddenly ravenous. He had really had no appetite since Victoria's passing. The stress had made sure of that. Now that he was far removed it was not as heavy. Taking a large piece he filled his mouth with a soft sound of approval. They picked through the dinner, a few comments and offerings between them. 

 

“Oh!” America mumbled through a mouthful of bread. “I’ve got something for you.” He climbed back off the floor and went to a satchel that was hanging over the back of the straight-backed chair. He brought over a small white package with gold lettering. It read ‘Hershey’s Milk Chocolate: A Nutritious Confection’. “I think it’s going to be real big.”

 

Wiping his hands on one of the napkins England accepted the bar and flipped it over in his hands to look it over. “Milk chocolate? I didn't realize you had started getting into chocolate.” England grabbed one of the corners and carefully opened the package. Breaking off a sizable piece, England popped it into his mouth. It took mere seconds before England's eyes widened in surprise.

 

“What do you think?” America asked.

 

Swallowing, England opened his mouth, but paused and coughed into his hand. “It’s... fine for American chocolate.”

 

“I think it’s pretty swell. Better than Cadbury.”

 

England paused I breaking off another piece. “Really, now?” he said flatly.

 

“All chocolate is pretty great. Mine is the best though.” He reached for the chocolate, only for England to pull it away.

 

“I didn't say I was sharing.” England snapped off another piece and popped it into his mouth. 

 

“That’s fine, I’ve got more.” America got up and went back over to the bag, coming up with a stack of the bars this time. He dropped them onto England’s lap, snatching one and pulling back the packaging.

 

England stared at him. That had ruined his plans. With a sigh, England pulled at the blankets and moved back onto the couch to rebuild his cocoon.

 

America shifted so he could lean on the couch cushions. He yawned. “I guess I’ll clean this up.” He made to get up off the floor.

 

“Just leave it.” 

 

America looked up at him, eyebrows raising. “You really aren’t yourself.” He twisted around so he could take England’s hand, threading their fingers together.

 

“Hush.” England scolded. “Come here.”

 

America edged onto the couch cushion. He snuggled up against England bundled in the blankets. “I’m here.”

 

“Took you long enough,” he muttered and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to America’s mouth. He tasted like overly sweet chocolate. America kissed him back, fingers resting lightly on his cheek. The kiss was soft and, unlike most times, lacked any heat of desperation. It wasn't long until England coaxed America on top of him to continue the kiss. The green-eyed blond sighed quietly. The weight was a welcome thing. Grounding.

 

“When I heard you were coming... I was worried about you,” America said, smoothing England’s hair back from his forehead.

 

“Why?” England murmured closing his eyes. The touch felt nice. Like he had been starved for contact.

 

“She was your longest monarch, right? I know you were fond of her... she was old, but... it’s hard to lose important people. I was just worried about you.” He smoothed his fingers over one of England’s unruly eyebrows.

 

“Ah... no need.”

 

“Maybe I want to worry about you. Make you feel better.” America pressed a soft kiss to England’s mouth. “Do you ever get used to it?”

 

“I feel like we've had this conversation.”

 

“You don’t have to be the big empire right now, it’s just us.”

 

England frowned. “I am a big empire... and I'm not acting like anything. I'm fine.”

 

“Really?” America curled his fingers against England’s cheek.

 

“Why would I lie?” England murmured. It was the truth. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest when he finally got to the other.

 

“Because you don’t want me to worry?” 

 

“Alfred, I am fine," England assured him, running his fingers down America’s cheeks and pulling him into a deep kiss. He needed it. America’s mouth pressed against his with hesitation, even as England coaxed his lips apart. Their tongues met lazily, the pair just enjoying the simple act. England hummed in approval as America’s fingers found his chin and tilted his head back to deepen the kiss. He needed this. Pulling back for air, he eyed the younger with contentment. “I'm fine.”

 

“You’ll tell me if you’re not?” 

 

England hesitated but nodded. “Yes,” he pressed a kiss to the corner of America’s mouth.

 

“I trust you then.” America kissed him again, fingers threading through his hair. Not harsh, but gentle.

 

England smiled and returned the kiss before he yawned.

 

“C’mon, before we fall asleep right here.” America scooted back and gathered England up in his arms, blankets and all.

 

“I can walk Alfred!” England squawked, a crack in the calm of the room.

 

“And I can carry you.” 

 

England glowered, glaring at the other. “Manhandling.”

 

“Absolutely.” America gave him a teasing grin as he carried him up the stairs. 

 

England gave him a look, but rested his head on the others shoulder, content with the situation. “Alfred... do we have to go elsewhere?”

 

“No.” He’d left the door to the bedroom open and sidled inside. “We can stay here.”

 

“Lovely.” England sighed. More travel sounded awful.

 

Settling England on the bed, America pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll call for more food in the morning. For now, do you want your pajamas?”

 

“No... I'll just change out of these.”

 

America nodded and went to his bag, pulling out his own pair of pajamas. He began undressing, settling his clothes in a crumpled pile in the bottom of his wardrobe.

 

“Don’t.”

 

Twisting to look at him, America looked at him. “Huh?”

 

“Don't wear your nightclothes.”

 

“What am I supposed to wear then?” America asked, tilting his head in confusion.

 

“Do I have to tell you again?” England frowned. “Nothing.”

 

A blush spread across America’s nose. “That’s kind of radical ain’t it?”

 

“Fine, don't.” England sighed, rolling over in the blankets. He could hear America rustling around in the bedroom and then pulling at the blankets. He had foregone the nightshirt but was still stubbornly wearing his pajama bottoms. 

 

“Don't forget the candles,” England murmured as America pulled him close under the blankets.

 

“I’ll be right back.” America pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and disappeared for another moment, the room darkening around them as the lamps were turned down and the candles blown out.

Before England’s eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness of the room, he felt America return to the bed as the mattress sank around him and America’s arms wound their way around his waist. While the younger had opted to remain wearing his trousers England had chosen to sleep bare like he normally did. Someday, he would convince the other that it was the best thing. 

 

England wasn’t sure when they drifted off, only that he woke the next morning nose to nose with America. He examined his face for a moment, thoughts flitting through his head, but none of them landing. He didn’t want to think about what, in that moment, felt like the only right thing in the world.

 

Closing his eyes, he let America’s warmth keep him buffered from it all.

 

He didn’t want to let go.


	8. Keep Your Apron Clean

_ May 29, 1911 _ _  
_ _ Indianapolis Speedway _ ,  _ United States _   
  
“Driving around and around in circles. What is the blasted point of it all? It’s not like it’s horses or anything.” England stepped out of the car as the chauffeur opened the door for him.   
  
“Because it's automobile racing, it’s  _ Bellissimo _ , ve!” Brown hair and bright brown eyes accompanied the cheerful voice and England shook his head as Italy rushed around the car, pep in his step. “ _ Grazie _ for inviting me,  _ mi amico _ .”   
  
“Of course, Feliciano.” England smiled, making sure his hat was on securely as they headed through the large doors that spoke of grandeur and massive crowds that were to come tomorrow.  Although judging by the letter, the British nation didn’t think the one he was here to see would even realize he was present for most of the duration.   
  
“I am surprised that Alfred is racing,” Feliciano commented as they entered the doors, pulling off their hats.   
  
“I am not so certain he is racing. But he is involved in something regarding this overblown situation.” England sniffed. “I need a drink.” He sighed.   
  
A man of nervous disposition hurried over to them, but before he could say anything England interrupted him. “Yes, I am Lord Kirkland and this is a fellow associate, Lord Vargas. I do warn you of my temper if we are introduced in any manner but that.” He smiled tightly. “Now please direct us to Master Jones. Promptly.”   
  
They were directed towards a circular dirt track, the automobiles lined up. From a distance, they looked standard, but as they grew closer they could see that they had been modified with larger wheels, not to mention each one was emblazoned with a number. The raceway was covered in brick. One car had its engine casing off, a blond head of hair just visible leaning over it, his back to them.   
  
“Master Jones, how about you welcome your guests?” England called out as they entered the pit.   
  
“Give me a second,” America replied, jerking at something and then emerging with a wrench in hand. He was up to his elbows in grease and there was a black streak across his cheek. He smiled. “Arthur, you came! Feliciano! Come check this out!” He waved them over.   
  
  
  
“I'm going to get filthy over there aren’t I?” England sighed.   
  
America opened his mouth to respond, but Italy had already bounded over the car. It didn’t take Italy much longer to dive into the engine. “Have you seen Francis’s new car?” he asked America.   
  
“He sent me a wire about it! I need to see it in person next time I’m over there.” They descended into a flurry of car talk.   
  
England heaved a sigh and moved over to sit on one of the chairs he deemed clean enough and crossed his ankles to wait his turn, eyeing some of the other mechanics in the pit. It was like watching young stable hands.   
  
It was if America had descended into his own little world. He talked about the engine and something about an idea that might be able to get fuel to the engine even faster. He walked around the car, touching it lovingly. “Can I drive it, ve?” Italy asked.   
  
America hesitated, but then opened the driver’s side door. “Don’t crash it, okay?” The vehicle roared to life and Italy was off, leaving America watching.   
  
“Aren't you quite done?” England called as the rest of the mechanic's crew walked out  to edge of the track to watch Italy.   
  
“He better not crash my car,” America grumbled and walked over to England. “What do you think?”   
  
England got to his feet. “I appreciate a car as much as the next gentleman, but honestly, right now I am more interested in afternoon tea and a proper hello.”   
  
“I don’t know about tea, but I could offer a proper hello.” He grinned at him, pulling a rag from his pocket and tried to wipe some of the grease off his hands.   
  
“Don't even bother.” England put a hand up in warning. “How much longer will you be here for the afternoon?”   
  
“If nothing goes wrong... probably not more than an hour. Are you coming home with me?”   
  
“Your secretary put me up in hotel. I don't recognize her. She must be new.”   
  
“Feliciano can take the hotel room. You can come with me... unless you think he would gossip.”   
  
“We have our own rooms.” England shrugged. “And I don't see why it would matter. I took him to bed many years in the past.”   
  
“I didn’t need to know that.” America wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, come home with me. I’ll drive us.”   
  
“And send Feliciano to the hotel alone? That would be rude don't you think?”   
  
“I’ll drive you both and then you can come to meet me and we’ll drive to my house.”   
  
“Or you can come to supper with us and then pretend like you are going home and either come to my room or pick me up later.”   
  
“Where are you eating? I’ll have to meet you, gotta clean up first.”   
  
“Ironically,” England said flatly. “The hotel has an Italian bistro next door. Guess where we are eating.”   
  
“Well, he’ll just find out Italian-Americans make it better.” America grinned. “I’ll be there after I finish up.”   
  
England gave him a look “I am telling him you said that.” He huffed. “Where is the men's lavatory?”   
  
America pointed.   
  
“Thank you. Send Feliciano to the car when he is back.” He turned and headed in the direction the blond was pointing. It was like the dirt was rolling off the track. His face felt dusty.   
  
***   
  
“You started eating without me?” America asked, pulling out a chair and joining them at their table.   
  
“We ordered and are drinking wine,” England corrected, holding up his glass as if to punctuate his statement.   
  
  
  
“So, Alfred. Arthur said you would more than likely to be late and that this was normal so go ahead and order,” Italy added.   
  
America looked over at England. “I’m not late.”   
  
“We got here half an hour ago.” England shrugged.   
  
“If I didn’t give you a time, I can’t technically be late. Did you order me something?” America glanced at them both hopefully.   
  
“Yes. I ordered you what I'm having,” England responded and Italy nodded multiple times.   
  
Small talk began around the table until America and Italy once again began on a discussion of cars. “We should have brought Big Brother Francis... we could have had a race,” Italy said, looking hopeful.   
  
“Arthur could drive one. It’s not like you don’t have cars over there.”   
  
England gave him a dirty look. “Yes, we have cars. I own several.”   
  
“Wanna race?”   
  


England frowned and heaved a sigh when Italy tugged as his short sleeve. “Fine.”   
  
A cheer went up from the other side of the table. Then dinner arrived and space was filled with the sounds of eating. America glanced up at England several times, their eyes meeting once and he smiled.   
  
England shook his head and drained his wine glass, a pleased expression on his face as their waiter rushed over to fill it. Thanking the man, he lifted it back to his mouth, peering over the red at America as Italy chatted on.   
  
“Ve, that was good. My big brother was right,” Italy said, glancing between them for a moment and smiling. “Is there...?” He trailed off, eyes focusing on America for a moment. “Oh, is there dessert, too?” The waiter had reappeared to ask.   
  
“Of course. Although I will take mine to my room.” England nodded and passed the rest of his half-eaten meal to America to finish. Chatter kept up between the three men and by the time their desserts arrived and the checks were paid the two foreign men were yawning.   
  
“Good night, Arthur,” America said, a hint of a smile telling England that he would follow him later.   
  
“ _ Ciao, _ Alfred!” Italy waved as the American headed for the front door and the other two nations headed further in towards their rooms. England bid Italy a good night as the brunette arrived at his room and the blond had to walk further down the hall. Grabbing the key from his pocket England balanced his plate and cover in one hand and unlocked the door, stepping in and shutting it behind him.   
  
It was a few minutes later, that a knock sounded on his door. Heaving a sigh, England got off the bed, not bothering to re-tuck his shirt or put his tie back on. “I was just about to eat that cake.” England scowled as he opened the door.   
  
“Do you want me to leave? Drive around the block?” America asked, smiling as he stepped into the room.   
  
“That's up to you.” England shrugged and locked the door behind him. “You took your sweet time.”   
  
As England walked past him, America caught him around his waist. “Do you think Feliciano suspects? I didn’t want to give him anything to gossip about.”   
  
“He was only interested in going to bed. We did just sail across the world.” England pointed out.   
  
“You make that sound as if it still takes months. It takes five days tops with most ships.” America hooked his fingers under England’s chin. “Do you want to go to bed?”   
  
“Five days and eight hours time difference. I would like to eat my cake and sleep, yes.” England eyed him.   
  
“That’s fine, I need to get to the track early tomorrow to make some final adjustments. However, there’s something I need first.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to England’s.   
  
England sighed into the kiss in relief, running his hands up America's chest to wrap his arms around America's neck. There was an itch to scratch. “About time.” He sighed as he pulled back. “Are you staying here tonight?”

  
“Either here or I’m taking you back to my place.”   
  
“You have an apartment here, too?”   
  
“Nah, a whole house.”   
  
“Really?” England arched a brow. “That is tempting, but I believe staying here would be better.”   
  
“I guess that makes for fewer questions in the morning.”   
  
“Yes and much more likely to be on time getting out of an uncomfortable hotel bed versus a proper one.” England nodded. “Now... I'm going to take off these uncomfortable trousers and hang my shirt before it wrinkles and then eat my cake.”   
  
America released him, walking over toward a chair near the corner and settling into it.   
  
“You are going to stay over there?” England arched a brow as he undressed. Hanging the shirt on the hanger and began to unbutton his pants.   
  
America undid a few buttons of his own shirt, revealing his white undershirt. “You said you wanted to eat your cake. If you’re half-naked and I’m right next to you that ain’t gonna happen.”   
  
“Well, that's good, because I don't plan to be half naked.” He stepped out of his trousers and grabbed the small plate and cover from the restaurant and sat down on the bed, pulling off the cover and quickly plunging his fork into an overpriced piece of tiramisu.   
  
“I’d classify taking off your trousers half-naked. Or it would be if you wore underclothes like any modern person.”   
  
England gave him a look. “I am not wearing anything now.” He popped the bite into his mouth with a groan.   
  
“I can see that. I definitely cannot guarantee that you’ll get to finish that when you’re in that state.”   
  
England snorted and took another bite. “Good luck getting between me and this excellent sweet.”   
  
America just grinned at him, getting up out of the chair and undoing the buttons of his shirt, before reaching down to unlace his shoes. One by one, his clothing fell away. He walked over to the bed and crawled up onto the other side. He scooted so that he was pressed up against England’s back. “Still think that?”   
  
“Yes.” England elbowed him in the belly gently, scooping up some more and offering it to the other blond.   
  
America took the food off the fork, chewing it. “That is good.” He swallowed and pushed his nose against the back of England’s neck.   
  
“Which is why I would like to finish it.” England sniffed. “Tell me about tomorrow.”   
  
“It’s the big race. Five hundred miles. Most of the other races have been shorter and this is going to be bigger. I’ll be driving my car. Top speed 80 miles per hour.” He brushed his fingers against England’s stomach.   
  
“If you are a racer than why were you in the pit?” He took a large bite giving America a look.   
  
“I built the engine myself, that’s why.” He tried to grab at the fork so he could get another bite.   
  
“Rude.” England scowled. “Really? That’s odd.”   
  
“Why? I like driving cars, I like building cars. Simple.” America gave up on the bite and turned his attention to the skin of England’s left shoulder. “I like machines. My people got mechanical flight to work, too. You wrote to me about that so I know you heard about it.”   
  
“Yes, yes,” England sighed, leaning fully on the other, working through more of the cake. A sense of disappointment filled him briefly as he realized it was almost gone.   
  
“Maybe I can take you up in a plane sometime.” He began to press his fingers into England’s lower back.   
  
“We shall see.” England popped the last bit into his mouth, humming as America’s fingers worked on his lumbar.   
  
“Scared?” America pressed his mouth to the back of England’s neck as he continued to massage his back.   
  
“I've flown before.” England shrugged, leaning his head back. “Right there.”

  
Working on the knot on his back, America adjusted England’s head onto his shoulder. “In a hot air balloon. A plane is different.”   
  
“Other things. Fuck.” England tensed, but relaxed as the knot loosened in his back. “Better.” He sighed in relief.   
  
“Other things?” America moved on to a different spot.   
  
“Ask Matthew.” He groaned, stretching his calves. “I forgot how good you are at this.” He sighed.   
  
“What can I say? I’m good with my hands.” America grinned.   
  
“I feel like I should slap you for that comment,” England snapped but melted further against the other as his hands moved to his hips.   
  
He kneaded at the skin, pressing another kiss to England’s neck as his hands slid lower, smoothing the muscles. “Feel good?”   
  
“Amazing.” England sighed, eyes fluttering shut he turned his head to press a kiss to America’s neck. “Should I really wear you out the night before a race?”   
  
“I thought you were tired?” America turned his head so he could catch England’s lips.   
  
“I’m exhausted.” England murmured kissing him back softly. “Terribly.”   
  
“Then just kiss me until you fall asleep,” he said, cupping the back of England’s hair and twining his fingers in the strands.   
  
“Hm, sounds doable. Maybe I’ll have a gift for you if you win.” He smiled, pushing off the other to pull back the blankets. Slipping under the covers, crooking a finger at America to do the same. Stopping the other when he tried to lay beside him England shook his head and pulled the other so he lay flush along him in an intimate manner. “I am cold.”   
  
“I can warm you up.” America settled against him, drawing him back into a kiss.   
  
  
  
England hummed in approval and allowed the American nation to pull kisses from him until sleep won.   
  
***   
  
America had slipped out of bed a little before sunrise, despite England’s protests. England was left to breakfast with Italy who was giddy with the idea of the race. “Alfred is going to race then? We should cheer for him!”   
  
“Of course we are cheering for him, Feliciano.” England sighed “We can head over right after breakfast. I need to finish my tea.”   
  
“Then afterward we can have a race! Have you raced cars, Arthur? It is so fun!”   
  
“I haven’t raced a car in an official race, no.” England shook his head.   
  
“Alfred, did not make it sound like our race will be very official, ve? I want to drive his car again. I wonder if he will let me modify it?”   
  
“I thought it was supposed to be official.” England frowned lowering his cup “We came across the Atlantic for this.”   
  
“The 500-mile race! Do you think he would let us try?”   
  
“Five hundred? Is that how much he is doing today?”   
  
“Yes! It is going to be exciting, no? It’s not only how fast the cars drive, but also how fast the mechanics can fix them. I wonder who his mechanic is? One usually rides along.”   
  
“Five hundred…” England did the math in his head and paled. That was over twice the width of England and just shy of its length. That was ridiculous.  How long is this race supposed to bloody take?”   
  
“As long as it takes I would think.”   
  
“We are going to be here forever.” England balked, shoulders drooping. “Honestly, what did I agree to?” He set his empty cup down on the table and pulled out his pocket watch. “We probably should head out.”   
  
“To the race!” Italy got up from his seat, an excited look on his face.   
  
***   
  
America looked up into the crowd, getting his car to the starting line. There were forty vehicles of different makes lined up in rows of five. America adjusted his goggles. It was windy, dust already getting kicked up on the track. He waved to Carl G. Fisher who had concocted the idea and had some hair-brained scheme for a road that would go east to west.   
  
He scanned the stands, looking for a familiar face.   
  
***

  
“I am going to get sunburned.” England sighed and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement at Italy’s excitement.   
  
“They are getting started!” One car moved out onto the track in front of the contestants. It started off, the rest of the vehicles staying in their rows at a moderate speed. “Ten thousand dollars prize money. I should have brought a car!”   
  
After they had done one lap, a loud bang and the vehicles began to accelerate. The formerly orderly lines breaking into competitive angles. England tensed with the rest of the crowd although remained in his seat. That was bloody fast. “The idiot’s going to get himself hurt”, England muttered as his sight locked onto America's car, fingers digging into the bench.   
  
The dust blew in the air as each vehicle went around and around, starting to pull over after a few laps to replace parts on the vehicles. Tires seemed to be the most common, although after Italy had pointed it out a few times England started to notice the tell-tale wobble that was the sign a driving rod was going out.   
  
A collective gasp went up from the spectators watching when one vehicle wobbled so hard on a turn, the mechanic fell onto the track, other drivers swerving to avoid him. One overcorrected and crashed right into one of the vehicles being repaired, causing it to flip over. Officials rushed to the edge of the track, but the race was allowed to continue.   
  
“Must not be anything on the track,” Italy said.   
  
“They are a load of idiots!” England snapped, relieved to see America's car come barreling out of the dust cloud with no sign of wear and tear. Leaning back, but not quite relaxing England watched, pensive, as the cars move for another lap.   
  
The day wore on, with a few more close calls from wobbling wheels and pieces coming off cars. America fell behind at one point, something obviously wrong with the engine. He pulled it over near the mechanics and there was a flurry of activity. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem possible to fix. America climbed out of the driver’s seat to take up the wrenches himself, the others moving off to cars that were still contenders.   
  
“Over five hours in and he is going to fucking lose!” England stared in disbelief. Standing out of his box seats England joined Italy in leaving over the railing to watch. Mild boredom turned to concern which then mutated into frustration. White knuckling the railing England shouted, “I didn't sail across the bloody Atlantic to watch you lose! Get back on the track you damn Yank!”   
  
America hopped back into the driver’s seat, his mechanic climbing in as well and the engine visibly rumbled to life. Soon, he was back on the track and trying to catch up to the leader.   
  
England slapped the railing in irritation and dropped back into his seat. “Don't even,” he murmured at Italy who turned to comment.   
  
“It’s good to see you so passionate! I wonder if there is any food...”   
  
“I know there are vendors towards the gates we came in. But they are nearing the five hundredth mile, do you wish to accidentally miss it? Keep your appetite for super. Alfred will certainly be hungry.”   
  
Italy sat back down in his seat, nodding at England’s logic. “Everyone says how odd it is that you two are friends. Romano is not friends with Antonio, even if he likes taking him to his rooms. It’s nice, ve?”   
  
“I…” England paused. “I wouldn't say that we are friends. But our people are very amiable despite our history and our governments are friendly in turn which means we do a lot of trade. Despite his mother's great dislike, my King is very fond of Americans so it makes the most sense that I would keep peace with Alfred. Keeps Matthew happy as well.”   
  
Italy tilted his head. “I suppose.” Italy stared at him blankly for a few minutes, England ignoring him before in order to not encourage any more impertinent questions. A cheer rose up around the crowd, officials with bull horns calling over the noise of the track. They were entering into the final laps.  Green eyes shifted and picked through the racers until they found the car he was looking for. From here he could see the wheat golden hair being tossed about by the wind. He was not in first place. Leaning forward in his seat, although refusing to get to his feet this time England watched carefully as racers began to put their engines to the test for one last haul. Shoulders tensing England swallowed, toes curling in his shoes.   
  
It was close, several cars including America’s vying for the lead. It was on the final turn that something went wrong. In an instant, America’s car was swerving off to the right, narrowly avoiding another car. Whatever happened he managed to get it under control before crashing into the fence, but it meant that Ray Harroun pulled into the winning slot. He had won the race in 6 hours, 42 minutes, and 8 seconds.   
  
“Shit.” England was out of his seat and booking it down the stairs with Italy hot on his heels. The crowd was deafening as they cheered for the winner, and no one paid attention to the two shorter men as they slipped through the crowds and staff who watched Harroun being lead to the podium. Maneuvering past the guards and hopping over the fence England came to a stop as paramedics and mechanics began to move the car off the track.   
  
America was standing off to one side, his riding mechanic looking impressed at the broken axle that had tipped the car on its side. They looked a little bruised, America sporting a scratch on his head, but no major injuries. “Arthur?” America said, catching sight of him.   
  
England stood just off the track, not wishing to press his luck, and his arms crossed his chest as Italy waved excitedly beside him. Emerald eyes narrowed at the young man as he waited impatiently with a rather pointed look.   
  
As the crowd moved away, America walked over to them. “What did you think of the race? It was really exciting, huh?” He smiled at Italy who was bobbing up and down, but then he turned his eyes to England.   
  
“You are a fucking reckless idiot,” England said quietly and the Italian man took that as his cue to leave and disappeared in the crowd to watch them hand trophies and prize money out.   
  
“It was going well until the end.”   
  
“That's not what I remember halfway through when you had to pull over.”   
  
“Well, I had added a modification at the last minute this morning. I thought it would give me a boost, unfortunately, the whole thing fell off... I had to make a reroute and that’s probably what blew the tire off... why are you making that face?”   
  
“Because your level of stupidity rivals that of even Francis right now!” England snapped before hissing. “And you rejected my advances to go fuck around on risky things on your car!? Unbelievable!”   
  
“There’s never been a race like this before! I wanted to see if it would work.” He stepped closer so he couldn’t be overheard. “I would rather be with you when I’m with you... I would have been thinking about my car the entire time.”   
  
“Good to know where I stand in ranking by your car,” he said flatly.   
  
“You know that’s not what I meant.” America pushed his hands in his pockets. “I was sorta hoping... you’d come to my house tonight.”   
  
“You know Feliciano is going to want to go out and celebrate tonight.” England sniffed, still upset with the whole situation.   
  
“I’ll tell him I’m tired and we can go get ice cream tomorrow. He’ll be for that.”   
  
England heaved a sigh. “Fine. But I am still furious with you.”   
  
“For crashing my car? Or leaving this morning?”   
  
“Originally for being reckless. But you do make a good point. Why do anything halfway?”   
  
America rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to let me forget this are you?”   
  
“Good luck.” England offered a mock smile. “I remember shit from the 1500’s that I still won’t let Francis forget.”   
  
“I’m not Francis.” America walked around him. “Now, let’s go find Feliciano something to do so that I can  _ show _ you that I’m not Francis.”   
  
England snorted but followed after him. “Oh, trust me I will never confuse you two.”   
  
***   
  
The promise of ice cream worked, although America couldn’t help think that maybe something was clicking in Italy’s head when he glanced at England. America ushered England into his new Ford, promising him that he’d drive at reasonable speed home.

  
The house was some distance from the edge of the city, surrounded by a small farm. Wheat was making progress at its early summer growth as America drove down the dirt driveway to a carriage house that was now storing the car.   
  
“This is quaint,” England commented, peering around them as they slowed down. “How often do you stay here?”   
  
“Now and again. Usually when I want to get away from the east coast, but need to stay within a day’s travel.” America parked the car and hopped out. He hurried to the other side to open the door before England could reach for it. “It’s peaceful out here.”   
  
England eyed him for a moment as if he was about to scold him but remained silent. “It reminds me of my small house out in Louth.” Stepping out of the car he shielded his eyes from the setting sun and gazed around. It really was quaint.   
  
“C’mon, I even bought you some tea because I knew you were coming.” He started down the little-worn path towards the house. A long porch was draped along one side, a chair near the door.   
  
“Even tea? You must be trying to get on my good side.” England followed after him. “Is it just us out here?”   
  
“Yeah, for a good while.” America smiled at him over his shoulder, holding open the door.   
  
“Should I be nervous you took me to the middle of nowhere? Alone?” England stepped inside and removed his hat. “It's almost as if you took it right out of a woman's journal,” he said amused.   
  
“Worried for your virtue?” America teased, closing the door behind them.   
  
“Terribly. Angel in the house and all that,” England drawled.   
  
America laughed. “You don’t really think that do you?”   
  
“Of course I do. You brought me out here to seduce me into your bed did you not?”   
  
“No, I just wanted to spend time with you beyond prying eyes.” America grinned at him and walked into the kitchen at the back of the house. It was a farmhouse with everything on one level.   
  
England's steps slowed in shock. That was it? An uncomfortable feeling settled in his belly. “That's it? You wanted to merely socialize?” England called after him as he was left behind in the living room.   
  
“Well, a little seduction wouldn’t go amiss,” America called back. “And yeah, am I not allowed to want to see you?”   
  
England sighed, not having a response to that that wouldn't start an argument. Loosening his tie, he pulls it off and drapes it nearly over the edge of the couch, removed his vest and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt before walking into the kitchen. “Fine, so what's the plan for this evening?”   
  
“Dinner. Sitting on the porch. Then whatever you want.”   
  
“Whatever I want. Literally anything?”   
  
“Within reason and it doesn’t violate any treaties.” America smiled at him, pulling down some pots and pans. He got started on the meal, setting the kettle up for England.   
  
“What are you making?”   
  
“Fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I made an apple pie for dessert.”   
  
England perked at that. “That sounds fairly good actually.”   
  
America grinned at him. “Your tea should be ready soon and food will be done in about an hour.”   
  
***   
  
“This is really good... for American food.” England helped himself to a second helping of mashed potatoes.   
  
America smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Just let me know when you’re ready for pie.” He had a third helping on his plate.   
  
“After this I suppose. It would be rude not to at least try it.”   
  
“I think it might be my national dish.” America grinned at him as he started in on his chicken.   
  
“Really now?” He sat down his fork.   
  
“Everyone loves apple pie.”   
  
“I would argue that is not true.”   
  
“We’ll see. Ready?” He got up from the table to fetch the pie that had been warming in the stove.   
  
“Oh, I know at least one nation who personally loathes the stuff.” England leaned back in his chair patiently.   
  
“Who?” America looked up at him after he doled out a slice onto a plate.   
  
“Feliks. He can’t stand the stuff.”   
  
“‘Cause he’s never had one I made. They don’t make it right in Europe.”   
  
England glared at the other and took the plate he was offered. “You do realize all of your people originally came from Europe. I wouldn’t be so quick to insult other people and their nations like some daft bastard.”   
  
“Maybe before, not as much now. People come from everywhere. And my point still stands. Apple pie is American, and no one else can make it like I can. Try it.” America put the pie down in front of England.   
  
Picking up his fork England pierced the pastry, grunting in acknowledgment as the crust crackled and sank through the hot apples and spices. Lifting the bite to his mouth , England chewed silently before cutting up another piece.   
  
America watched him as he started in on his own piece. “Verdict?”   
  
“Don't fish for compliments, Alfred Jones. It's unseemingly.” England sniffed. “And Americans did not invent the apple pie.”   
  
“We perfected it though.” America worked on his own piece of pie.   
  
“I'll make sure to tell the Netherlands that,” England drawled, turning his attention back to the pie.   
  
“He doesn’t scare me.” Finishing off his piece, America leaned back in his seat, hands folded across his belly.   
  
England eyed him carefully. “Oh, he should. He was nearly the one in charge of you.”   
  
“I wouldn’t be who I am if that had happened.”   
  
“Well, no,” England nodded.   
  
America was quiet for a moment, watching England as he finished his slice of pie. “I wonder what things would have been like if that were the case. Maybe there would be more nations in North America. After all, you would have still had colonies other than New York. Maybe I would have been there and someone else would have become New Netherlands.”   
  
“That is quite possible” England nodded, laying his fork down. “And Spain and probably Prussia as well.”   
  
“I guess it was fate.”   
  
“If that is something you believe in.” A sudden thought came to England's mind. “I didn't bring a case.”   
  
“A case of what?”   
  
“Of clothing”   
  
“You can borrow some of mine and we can leave yours out to air on the line or something.” America stood up from his seat. “The view of the sunset is pretty excellent from out front.”   
  
“So, I take it that's where we are headed next?”   
  
“Come on,” America smiled at him and held out a hand. England sighed and ignored his hand, getting to his feet. Heading to the front door, England rolled his eyes as the other dashed in front of him to get it.   
  
“Are we done now?”   
  
“Just being nice.” America held up his hands when England glared at him before taking one of the rocking chairs.   
  
“You-” England shook his head and turned his attention to the sky.   
  
America took his seat in the other chair, the May evening beginning to come alive with the sound of crickets and the creak of the rocking chairs against the wooden porch.   
  
“It’s very calm out here. Quiet of city noises,” England hummed   
  
“It reminds me of when life was slower. I think it’s only gonna speed up.”   
  
“Depends where you are.”   
  
“Maybe. I mean we have automobiles and airplanes, I think it’s moving along.”   
  
“The world is loud now compared to what it used to be. You just have to find the quiet.”   
  
“Like here?” America glanced at him, catching his eyes for a moment with his own.   
  
“Yes.” America turned back to the sky, a smile on his face. He reached out with his hand, brushing England’s fingers with his own. England gave him a look but didn’t pull his hand away. “I'll give you this once since you lost your race and are more than likely feeling down.”   
  
“Would you be more eager to hold my hand if I won?” America took England’s hand his own running his thumb over the back.   
  
“No,” he said flatly.   
  
“You wouldn’t be admiring my trophy?” America teased.   
  
“No.” He shook his head before leveling the other with a look. “I told you what I would be doing if you won.”   
  
“You did?” America said, head tilting.   
  
“Yes.” England stared at him in disbelief. “Bloody hell, you were only thinking of your car this morning.”   
  
“Remind me.”   
  
England gave him a long look before crooking his finger towards the boy. America leaned over the arm of his chair towards him. “No,” England said lowly, shaking his head. “Come here.”   
  
Raising an eyebrow, America pushed out of his chair and walked over to stand in front of him. He rested his hands on his hips, waiting for England.   
  
Rolling his eyes England leaned forward, grabbing America's belt and yanked him forward into his lap. “A rocking chair will be a new one for even me.”   
  
Trying to keep them from toppling over, America bumped his nose against England’s. “Are you sure about this? We’ll probably end up on the porch.”   
  
“Look at you being more concerned with grace then sex.” He leaned his cheek into the palm of his hand. “What a turn-off.”   
  
“Oh, fuck you,” America groused, leaning forward to press his mouth against England’s.   
  
Grinning against the kiss, England allowed the American to control it, rocking back sharply to force the other closer.   
  
This was going to be a treat.


	9. Two Per Door Please pt 1

_April 10, 1912_

_Southampton, England_  

“I knew she was going to be massive, but my is she a beauty,” England breathed, pulling back the curtain of his carriage as he drew closer to the docks. “Do look at her Samuel! The largest British Passenger Liner ever made to set sail. I was informed that there are to be about two-thousand-two hundred something people on her maiden voyage today. And to think that I get to attend it!” He held a hand up to shade his eyes from the morning sun. “I also hear she is to carry some of the richest people in the world.”

“And you are certain to be comfortable for apparently, the accommodations are to be top notch.” Samuel nodded, picking up the morning’s paper. “According to the newsmen there is an on-board gymnasium, high-class restaurants, libraries, swimming pools, and the top of the line cabins... but… are you sure that you do not want me to accompany you, my Lord?”

“Samuel,” England leaned back in the carriage to look at his valet, “I remember vividly how sick you were the last time you came boating with me. You do not have sea legs or belly.” He cringed. “I honestly could not live with myself if I subjected you to that for days on end. No, I shall be fine. Take the much needed rest. Take your wife out. I heard she is pregnant again.” The carriage lurched to a stop. “Now, I will be taking the Titanic over there, and then meeting with the American President and his diplomats, joining our current diplomats there. Probably a week’s time and then traveling back. As I told you, your pay shall continue as if I am here.” He smiled, grabbing his hat from the seat beside him. The carriage driver opened the door and England stepped down, his walking stick clicking loudly before his shoes.

“Lord Kirkland!”

“Yes?” England turned around as Samuel leaned out the window.

“I had promised to keep it all a secret but you won't be alone for the trip. One of your acquaintances was set on being on the Titanic's maiden voyage as well.” He smiled as the carriage driver finished handing off his luggage and was climbing back up.

“What do you mean?” England frowned as the carriage began moving forward and Samuel gave him one last smile as England heard his name shouted loudly behind him.

“When you said it was going to be the biggest ship ever, I thought you were exaggerating,” America said, walking up to him. “I’ve already got my trunk on board. Good thing the coal strike isn’t affecting this one.”

“What are you doing here?” England stared at him in shock.

“Are you kidding me? How could I miss this? Besides, it’ll end up in New York.”

“Ah…” England nodded, looking back at the ship “I’m surprised you didn’t arrive at the palace first.”

“My ship got delayed, just arrived this morning.”

Pulling his ticket from his coat pocket, he peeked at it as they moved through the crowd. “What is your cabin number?”

“They gave me first class.” He held out his ticket for England’s inspection.

“Two rooms apart. Convenient.” England nodded.

America smiled at him and led the way toward the gangplank. “Lots of places to explore in a place this big.”

“Yes, although I highly doubt there will be any time for that tonight,” he commented as they walked up onto the massive liner.

America paused, turning to look at him. “We’ve got the voyage.”

“Well, yes.” England gave him an odd look “What of it?”

“You’re going to leave me to my own devices?” America grinned at him. “Fine, I’ll just have to find something to occupy myself.”

“There is a ball tonight.”

“Is that an invite?” They continued off the main deck and down into the ship, both stopping to marvel at the grand staircase.

“You are first class, by that you are automatically gifted an invitation.” England shrugged, taking in the sight. “I was told she was grand, but I did not expect this,” he breathed.

“This would have been impossible fifty years ago. Pretty amazing,” America said. “I want to build one like this. Can’t let you have all the fancy ships.” America smiled at him.

“Good luck keeping up.” England grinned, heading for the hall. “I need to change. Something a bit nicer for the send-off. We leave dock in two hours.”

“I’m going to look around. I’ll see you at dinner if not before!” He walked off excitedly, catching a passing crewman to ask for directions. England stared after him in disbelief. While it had only been a year since they had last seen each other, he had gotten used to America jumping him within an hour of them being in close range. With a silent huff, England made his way into the personal rooms section of the liner. Looking over the numbers on the door, he found his room, pulled the key from the envelope and stepped inside, impressed.

First-class parlor suite, eight hundred and seven pounds for the trip. First class was located amdiship, where hardly a rocking of the ship could be felt. The over the top embellishments were classified by the latest fashions in interior design. Wardrobe rooms, a private bath, promenade, telephones, heaters, and call bells greeted him when he walked in. “Impressive,” he breathed, seeing his cases at the end of the bed he turned his attention to the bathing room.

***

An hour into cocktails and England had already met with several people of name, those who he was aware were going to be on board and those who he wasn’t expecting to see. However, a lady caught his attention and he excused himself from his current conversation, grabbed a new fresh drink from a passing waiter and approached a small group of women. Several eyes turned on him, one of them he recognized. “Miss Dorothy Gibson.” He smiled, handing the new drink to her.

“British.” She smiled, looking at the women around her who smiled secretly. This was why the court ladies had fans. “Have we met?” He shook his head.

“No, but I have watched you in the films. Let me introduce myself, Lord Arthur Kirkland” He watched their eyes widen with a small sense of satisfaction. American women loved a true British accent and everyone loved a member of the royal court.

“Oh, goodness.” She threw a glance at her companions and the other women looked at each other before slipping away into the crowd.

“I was pleased to see you across the room. Grant me a walk?” He offered an arm and gave her a smile when she took it. It was a good start to the evening.

***

America had been glad to escape the company of JJ Astor and many of the rest of the top businessmen from his country. They could be entertaining at times, but their current concern was about the railroad and the implications of the government breaking up monopolies.

He followed the sound of a particularly loud woman’s voice until he came into view of Margaret Brown. “Alfred,” she said, pausing in her story for a moment. More than one person looked relieved that he’d distracted her.

“Molly,” he said in response. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Where was I?” she said, turning back to a crowd that looked strained for their courtesy. “Oh right...” She dove back into the story of her husband’s gold mine with aplomb.

***

When the orchestra started up England was pleased that the American actress was more than ready to dance with him. Leading her onto the dance floor, England spun the woman around, eyes widening his surprise and offered a smile to America when he saw him chatting with some of the elite Americans.

He had dressed up for the evening, sharper than England had seen him in a long time. Black suits and stark white shirts had come into fashion again as opposed to the brighter colors of decades previous. Even the women’s dresses had simplified, long straight skirts and short sleeves. The fit of the men’s jackets had gone back to close as opposed to baggy and England couldn’t help but admire the figure the other was cutting. Their eyes met for a moment and America gave him a smile. It wasn’t until one of the women touched America’s arm that he looked away from where England was dancing, allowing himself to be drawn back into the conversation.

Turning his attention back to his dancing partner England focused on the task at the hand.  The evening passed quickly for England, casting glances at America from across the room. He met a plethora of people over the time and it wasn’t until England checked his pocket watch and marveled at the time. It was one o’clock in the morning and the party showed no signs of winding down.

“Everyone is going to be raccoon-eyed at breakfast,” America said, surprising England at his proximity. He was leaning against the wall, yawning. “I’m making my exit. What about you?”

England’s hand flew to his chest. “Bloody hell, you caught me off guard,” he breathed, giving him an unimpressed look. “You are going to leave early?”

“I was seen. I was thinking of going for a walk. Maybe I’ll come back.”

“A walk sounds pleasant. I think it sounds perfect.”

America smiled, the caught another yawn in his hand. “Let’s go.”

The pair left the hot ballroom and stepped out onto the deck, cold with the night air and the sea. Walking to the railing England peered out at the moon's reflection on the water, welcoming the breeze that cooled the sweat on his collar.

Pulling his formal jacket closed, America leaned beside him, throwing a glance his way. He smiled at the look on England’s face. “I don’t know if I’ve ever really looked at you when we were on a ship before,” he said.

“What's that supposed to mean?” England pulled his gaze from the water to glare at America.

“You look freer.” He reached out a hand, taking advantage of the darkness to touch England’s cheek.

England watched him silently for a moment. “That's not how I'm usually described.”

“It’s how you look now, though.” America tilted his head, face thoughtful. He cleared his throat and let his fingers drop. “You’ll be in New York for a few days won’t you?”

“Yes for a day or two and then I'm actually scheduled for D.C.”

“You haven’t come there in a while. I’ll take you to the Smithsonian, we’ve even opened a zoo there and the natural history museum just opened last year.”

“Ah, yes we are far overdue for a zoo trip. Did I ever take you? No... I think I only managed to take Matthew”

America looked out at the water in thought. “I feel like... maybe? Only the memory is fuzzy.”

“I'm positive it was Matthew.” England pushed off the railing slightly, hands gripping onto the railing as he leaned back as if basking in the moonlight.

“Maybe he just told me about it. There are a lot of holes in my memory from back then. I still don’t remember the 1860s very well.” He watched England. “Having fun rubbing shoulders with the wealthy?”

England opened his eyes to look at him. “I am at the top of the wealthy class. This is tea time.” He stepped away from the rail. “Though I do like to think your silent film actress fancied me tonight.”

America smiled at him. “How could she not?”

“Are you trying to butter me up, Master Jones?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“Hm...” He smiled. “What is your desired outcome?”

America stepped closer into his space. “Some time alone.”

“With who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Name?”

America laughed. “Really?”

“Say it, Master Jones.”

“Arthur.”

England shook his head. “No.”

America took a step away from him, leaning against the railing. “No?”

“The whole thing.” England closed the space.

“I want to spend time alone with you, Arthur Kirkland.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“And you’re forgetting that I don’t have a care for titles... but...” America took a breath. “ _Lord_ Arthur Kirkland.”

England’s pupils dilated and he took a steadying breath. “I want to hear that again, although with fewer clothes and locked doors.”

“We can make that happen...” America was close, nearly kissing him, but moved away when another party came out onto their quiet stretch of deck.

Heaving a sigh, England rubbed his eyes. “Guess that's a sign we should turn in.”

“Quick, before someone notices us.”

England stared at him before chuckling. “Alfred... perhaps not.”

“Huh?” Confusion spread across America’s face. England could catch the little downturn of his mouth that showed disappointment.“Why not? You’re usually keen.”

“You remember the time right? You also realize that there is a breakfast scheduled at seven o'clock in the morning don't you?”

“I never miss a meal, what does that have to do with it?” America thought for a moment. “You could just come with me to bed, we don’t have to do anything else.” He touched the cuff of England’s dinner jacket.

“Worried about being on a boat?”

“No, I’m not the one who doesn’t know how to swim,” he said. He looked away. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

England bristled at the comment. “Insulting someone is not a good way to get into their bed.”

“Stating a fact is not an insult... and that’s not what I meant. Of course, you only hear the first part,” he mumbled.

England sighed. “Come to my room.”

“Ok, when?”

“Well, you need to get your nightclothes correct?”

“Yes, are you going to walk with me?”

“No.” He shook his head “Let's not make it too obvious.”

America shrugged and began to walk away. “Knock on my door four times when you come down to the cabins, that way I’ll know I can come over.”

“Of course.” He smiled.

America smiled back and turned to go back into the warmth of the halls.

***

The four knocks started America awake again. He had lain down on the ornate couch in his parlor, his bundle of pajamas folded neatly inside some papers so that if anyone happened to be in the hallway, they wouldn’t think anything of it. For a moment, he thought he dreamed it, but then, he was certain of it. Stretching, he got up and went back out of the room, turning down the hall to England’s door. He knocked and it swung forward. England was yawning himself now, walking sleepily back to the bedroom.

It was a comfortable silence as they changed. America getting into the bed first and making space for England to slide in beside him. When he did, America pulled him close, burying his nose in his hair. “Good night,” he said to the top of England’s head.

***

_April 11, 1912_

“America, I'm sleeping,” England muttered as kisses on his neck woke him.

“And I’m leaving so you should kiss me goodbye.” He knew, he was likely wrinkling his clothes, but he couldn’t help snuggling against England for a little while longer.

“No, I think you are staying a bit longer,” England countered, rolling over. Burying his nose in the crook of America's shoulder and neck, he sighed in contentment.

America brushed his fingers through England’s hair, enjoying the possessive grip England had taken around his middle. “How long is a bit?” he teased.

“Until I bloody decide,” he growled, irritated. “Now just shut up and let me sleep or your bed will be empty of the British nation for the remainder of the voyage.”

America hummed in acknowledgment, slowing stroking England’s hair until he drifted back into sleep and his hold loosened. “I have to go meet my new Americans,” he whispered to England’s sleeping form, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. As carefully as possible, he scooted off the bed and straightened his clothes. He went back to his own room to change so that he could go through the decks of the ship and find the people who were going to stay once they reached New York.

He liked the way people changed as he went from the upper decks to the lower decks. From money to well-to-do to people trying to start a new life. He made his way into the mess hall of the Third Class near dinner time, settling down at one of the tables and listening. He liked hearing their dreams and plans. He hoped they’d be able to do them. Some wanted to find jobs in the factories of the growing cities while others wanted to start farms or bring their skills to new professions entirely.

Hope swirled in America’s chest. Hope for them. And hope for his own future. It put a smile on most of the faces of the people who would arrive in Ellis Island in only a few days time. He knew they had challenges ahead, but he was rooting for them to join his people.

It was late when he arrived back at his room on the upper deck. The lights in the hall had been dimmed and there was no light shining from beneath England’s door. He went back to his own room and climbed into his bed, soon having dreams of the future.

***

_April 13, 1912_

“Captain Smith.” England smiled as he stepped through the door into the helm. Several crew members under the white star banner turned to look at him, snapping to attention. Ex navy. With a subtle wave the stood at ease. 

“Lord Kirkland.” The older gentleman turned from his map to shake hands with him as England rolled his eyes.

“I told you that you can call me Arthur.”

“Only out of uniform, and over a glass if I remember correctly.” He chuckled.

“Fine, fine.” England relented with a laugh. He had know Edward for a couple of years. The man had transported ships back during the Boer War and England had found himself on one of those moves. When he was unsure they would meet again Edward had awarded him a ‘Transport Medal’ and was labeled a ‘safe captain’. From there they ran into each other on more than one occasion as the man rose through the ranks and commanded some of the largest ships in the fleet and the largest in the world more than once. “Are you going to best me in cards again?”

“Quite possibly. It depends.”

“I brought plenty for our pipes.”

“You had planned for this?”

“Yes. And there is another gentleman on board you should meet. An American delegate I work with on fair occasion. He never seems to have a good hand, but the more the merrier the say.” England grinned and Edward gestured towards the windows.

“Of course. But I highly doubt you only came to chat with me. I am guessing a tour of the helm and then the engine room is what you actually came for?”

“You do know me.”

***

It had been a long day, America thought, leaning back on the lounge chair on the deck outside his room. It was quiet here, a complete shift from the boisterous noise of the thousands of people confined on a ship. He loved it, but just sometimes the wildness in his heart craved silence. He was all of it, noise and quiet.

He could hear the door swing open, a porter announcing that he’d brought the food that was ordered. America called back to him from the deck and soon the tray was on a table at his side. “There was a gentleman in the hall inquiring about you.”

“Yellow hair, big eyebrows?” The porter looked a little put off by the description but nodded. America smiled. “Send him in.”

“Suppertime?” England stepped out on the deck. “Being rather reclusive don’t you think?”

“The wilderness is calling to me,” America said, shrugging. “This ship is full of people that are going to be mine. It gets loud.” He smiled at him, picking the lid off the tray. “What have you been doing?”

“I've been keeping company with Edward.” He leaned against the deck railing. “The ship captain.”

“I heard that they lit the rest of the ship’s boilers. Trying to make the ship even more impressive?” America asked, picking up one of the sandwiches he’d had made.

“Something like that.” He pushed off the railing and walked over to the chair. “I haven’t seen you these last... two days?”

“I didn’t want to wake you last night.”

England frowned. “Last night? I didn’t turn in until almost four this morning. What time did you turn in?”

“Probably around three? I guess you weren’t even in there then. If you want to stay up late tonight, there’s a party going on in third class. You won’t have to worry about a dinner jacket.”

“Below deck?” England arched a brow, sitting on the arm of America’s chair.

America reached up, hooking an arm loosely around England’s waist as he held his sandwich in his other hand. He chewed, just looking up at the other. After swallowing, he said, “Did you forget about common people?” He took another bite before he was even finished with the last word.

England wrinkled his nose but reached over for the rest of the cut sandwich on the plate.

Pinching it between his fingers, he eyed it for a moment before taking a bite. Chewing, he made a noise of appreciation before swallowing. “Of course not, I just figured you would be making contacts. Utilizing the confinement of a cruise.”

“I’ve been rubbing elbows.”

“Well, good on you.” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully before putting it down. “I guess we could go. I did pack an outfit for such an event.” He leaned back slightly, pleased when America’s grip tightened as if to stop him from falling back. He nudged the other’s calf with the tip of his shoe. “Tired of the wheeling and dealing upstairs?” He watched as America swallowed and made to respond. Reaching around, England tugged at that small strand of hair that never seemed to stay slicked back no matter how hard the blue-eyed blond tried.

America smiled. “It will be fun. And... it means I don’t have to let you out of my sight for a bit.” He looked up at England, giving him an expectant look.

“Really. Out of your sight?”

“I like having you where I can see you.”

England gave him a look. “I don’t know if that's to be flattering or insulting.”

“Whichever one is more likely to get you to kiss me,” America replied, pulling England down onto the seat of the lounge with him.

“Really?” England smirked. “Waiting for me to make the move? I can’t decide if that's politeness or shyness.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Oh, so you are hoping to look for some politeness points, hm?” He ran his hands through America’s hair.

“Gotta save ‘em up for when I don’t want to be polite.” He closed his eyes, leaning into England’s touch.

“Hm... but don't we have a party to go to?”

“You could kiss me before you go to change.”

“I could. But I will not.” England hoisted himself off of America with a quiet grunting. Straightening the wrinkles in his suit, he turned to look at America. “Within the hour?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you near the big clock.”

“Of course.” He nodded, heading out. He paused in the door before turning back to look at America. “You know, Alfred,” he whispered, “Just because I didn’t kiss you doesn't mean you couldn’t kiss me.”

America turned to look at him pushing himself out of the chair. He walked over to where England was hovering in the doorway. He leaned in close, his mouth close to England’s. “Except that I want you to give me one, _Lord_ Kirkland.”

England eyed him greedily. “And what do I get in return, Master Jones?”

“You’ll just have to see.” He stepped away. “But you have to wait now since we need to get ready for the party.”

“Of course.” He nodded, eyeing him for a brief moment more before leaving.

***

England looked himself over in the mirror before he set out for the night. Despite the fact that the style was now two years old, England could not decide whether he was fond of it or not. It all started with a lightweight three-piece wool sack suit, or two-piece, depending on the man. England preferred a three-piece suit himself which he donned now, a dark brown, nothing too loud. As the magazines dictated he wore a striped shirt of pastel green, tucked tightly beneath a form-fitting vest, all topped off with a white club collar and a paisley tie. Slipping into a pair of two-tone shoes, white and black, he grabbed a straw boater hat, propping it on his head. Checking for his pocket watch and cigarette case England stepped out and headed for the clock.

America leaned against the center balustrade. He’d dressed plainly, white shirt over dark gray trousers and gray coat. His bow tie was slightly crooked, as though he’d rushed the process. He smiled when he saw England at the top of the stairs.

“You’re early,” he mouthed as England walked down the stairs, hand on the railing.

Shrugging, America offered a hand as if they were merely acquaintances. “Let’s get going.” Dinner had been announced only a little while before, the first class passengers still dressing for the event, the hallway quiet as they made their way towards the lifts.

“So, do you have a lady for your arm tonight?” England asked casually as they stepped inside one of the lifts.

“Nah, the one I want isn’t possible, at least not when other people are around. What about you?” America asked.

“Why yes, actually.” He smiled “I have a lovely little bet placed with a beautiful young woman for the evening.”

America raised a brow. “That so?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “She is the daughter of an up and coming family. I had dinner with them last night and chatted with her at the ball. She fancies one of the men in third class. When she found out that I would be coming down here this evening she said she might as well. I told her if she gathered her skirts and made it she had to promise me a dance.”

“Isn’t that a little scandalous, rich girl and a boy with a third class ticket?” America smiled despite his words. He liked the idea. The elevator reached the lower decks and the gate was opened to let them step out into the stark white halls that seemed a world apart from rooms that were only five decks higher. Music could be heard echoing down the metal hallway. “Ready?” America asked.

“It’s terribly inappropriate.” England peered into the empty hall. It seemed everyone was in the dining hall turned dance room. He looked back at America. “But it’s also astonishingly romantic.”  

“Well, the odds are stacked against them. They should enjoy it while they can.”

“Odds are stacked against us all,” he pointed out as they turned down the hall. A smile worked its way onto England's face as they entered the room. It was loud, people shouting and dancing with reckless abandonment. A group of men crammed along the wall played a ruckus of music that swelled around the crowd and poured out the door.  He laughed quietly. “The difference in worlds never change.”

“Do you want a beer? It looks like there are some over there.”

England nodded, taking his hat off. “Yes, thank you, Alfred.”

Winding his way through the crowd, America reappeared presently with two beers. He handed one off to England. “See the girl who promised to dance with you?”

“Actually, I do.” He grinned, taking a sip. “I guess I do have a dance tonight. Although, she is rather preoccupied at the moment it seems.”

America chuckled. “Throwing all caution to the wind it seems.” The young woman in question was currently dancing very closely with a young man. America tipped back his beer, drinking half of it down in a few large gulps.

“Don't be crass, Alfred. Take a breath,” he scolded.

America held out his beer glass. “A toast?”

“To what?”

“To the Titanic,” he said, “To young love.”

“Ah, young love.” He laughed, eyeing the men and women around them. “Out of all my hunts that was one beast I never  managed to find.”

America’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You said, young love.” He shrugged. “Centuries ago I chased after such an idea and a couple of times I thought I had found it only to be severely disappointed. Now I have come to the terms with the fact that it was not for me.” He clinked their glasses together. “But I am glad for others, so cheers!”

America tapped his glass against England’s. “You may not have found it young, but you haven’t given up on it have you?” He took another long drink from the glass.

“No,” he said carefully, “I just don’t see the need the to pursue it anymore.”

America was quiet for a moment, finishing off his beer. “Maybe because you don’t have to. I’m going to get another beer.” America wandered away back into the crowd.

“Excuse me, Alfred!’ England stared after him in disbelief.  “Where are you going?”

***

America weaved through the crowd, wanting to put some distance between him and England for a moment. He hadn’t wanted to see the other’s reaction to his statement. England always got so odd when love was mentioned. He found another glass and began to drink it, watching England from the safety of the crowd. The other looked unsure, and America felt a little spark of hope in that.

***

England heaved a sigh in irritation. America always had emotional ups and downs like this and it kept throwing England for a loop. He ran his hands through his hair in an irritable manner before he saw that Rose had stopped for a breather. Gripping his glass tightly, England entered the crowd, making his way towards the woman. Looking up, Rose saw him and smiled. “I am glad to see you made it.”

“I wasn’t sure that I was going to, Mr. Kirkland,” she said breathlessly, as she leaned against the wall. “I take it you came for that dance I owe you?” She smiled as another song started up. Pushing off the wall she offered her hand and England took it with a grin, pulling her into a dance.

England barely got through the whole dance before the young man was cutting in. Wandering away, he found America involved in arm wrestling match. He was clearly letting the other man win but was giving it a good show regardless.

Crossing his arms in impatience, England settled along the wall watching. “Come off it, Alfred. Hurry up, don’t break the man’s arm and let’s go.”

America glanced up at him, letting the other man win. He patted him on the back and walked over to England. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“I was having fun. I had to find something to do when you walked away from me with no explanation.”

America blinked. “I was just getting another beer and then you were dancing.”

“You practically stormed away from me.” He scowled.

“I... that’s not what I was doing. I... I just... I didn’t mean to make you wonder why I walked off.”

“It was irritating. Rude.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Anything you’d like.”

England arched a brow. “Really anything I want?”

“That I, Alfred, can personally give you.”

“I will take that. A raincheck perhaps.”

America nodded. “Do you want to dance? I’ll find a partner and you find a partner.”

England snorted and shook his head. “No, I don’t want to dance with a random stranger. I need more liquor for that.”

“More liquor could happen.” America smiled.

“Good.” He crossed his arms “Let’s get on with it.” He smiled. “But not too long... I want to cash my rain check tonight.”

Taking England’s empty glass, America went to fetch another. He handed it off and tapped his glass against England’s.

“What are we cheering now?” England arched a brow.

“To spending time together.”

“Ah.” He took a long thoughtful drink. “Well,” he tipped back his drink, “I am going to actually to go dance.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes.” England smiled, shoving his glass into America’s hand and allowed the crowd to swallow him up. The evening progressed in a whirl of liquor and voices. Sometime through the evening, England lost his hat, coat and the top button of his vest. The red imprint of some woman’s mouth, the hot color of the season, was imprinted on his cheek and England was drunk. Not drunk solely on liquor but on the high of such a party. He had lost track of time by the time he was whirled out of line dance and into America. “Alfred!”

Catching England as he stumbled, America said, “Arthur, maybe we should get you back to your room?” He had been dancing and having fun, as well, at least until England started making a bit of a spectacle.

“Oh no. I am fine.” England shook his head, grabbing America's arm. “It was that man's fault he got handsy with the lady so I had to defend her honour,” England explained.

“Great,” America whirled England behind him when the individual in question came to continue whatever conflict that had started on the dance floor. The man shouted about England trying to take off with his wife. “He’s not going to be trouble for you anymore. Go back to your wife, okay?” The man sized America up for a moment, but then decided it wasn’t worth it. America turned back to England who was squinting at something in the crowd. “Let’s go before you get into trouble.”

England smacked his hands away in irritation. “Don’t you patronize me,” he snapped.

“You’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk.” He scowled

“Why don’t you come with me? We can drink more when we’re back upstairs.”

“But I am enjoying myself down here,” England argued, fists perching on his narrow hips.

“The party is winding down, see? People are leaving.” He pointed to a few people who were wandering off, hoping England would follow the small crowd.

“But I'm not ready to go yet and that's only a few people.”

America sighed. “I’m going to keep an eye on you.”

“I don't need you to watch me!”

Giving him a smile, America said, “Well, I like watching you. I’m gonna do it anyway.”

England gave him a deadpanned look before saying flatly, “You sound like a stalker I hope you know.”

“Like you don’t have an eye on me at all times.”

“Well, because you used to complain I didn't.” He popped open to the two top buttons on his collar with a huff. His cheeks were red from a combination of things and his collarbone shiny with sweat.

America held out a hand. “Come up to the top deck with me. The air will be nice.”

With an irritated sigh, England ignored Alfred's hands and left the room towards the lift. America followed him in. The lift attendant began moving it upwards.

“I am going to turn in.”

America frowned. “Are you really going to sleep?”

England eyed him before looking at the people around him. “I'm heading to my room.”

“I’ll walk with you, mine is right past there anyway.”

“If you insist.” England shrugged as they moved down the hall. Fishing his key from his pockets upon arrival, he unlocked the door. England paused as his personal space was compressed. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Do you really have to ask?” England turned around, back pressed against his door. America smiled, reaching around England to turn the doorknob. He herded England into the room and pushed him back against the door. Hidden from prying eyes, America leaned close.

“You smell like a brewery. Do you taste like one?” Before England could answer he pressed his mouth against his, taking the kiss that he hadn’t gotten that morning.

A groan of approval rolled from England's throat and his hands found their way into America's hair. _Finally._

America stepped back, taking England with him until they bumped into the sitting couch. America dropped into the seat, pulling England into his lap. He moved his lips to his throat, tasting the salt on England’s skin.

_“_ Alfred.” He sighed, leaning back, shivering when America caught him. Blinking at him America, he smiled.

“You look a little sleepy,” America said, adjusting his hold on England, to keep him from falling.

“Just means I can't do all the work tonight like I normally do.” He grinned, lazily.

“You do all the work, huh?” America smiled back, adjusting England’s position.

“Yes.” England nodded with a yawn.

“I can fix that.” America said, scooting to the edge of the couch and hoisting England up into his arms. He stood up and began carrying him into the bedroom.

“Manhandling,” England murmured, dropping his head on America's shoulder, but provided no further arguments. “What are you doing?”

“The work.” He settled England onto the bed. “Because you need to get some sleep.”

England scowled. “I didn't leave the party early to sleep.” He pushed himself up haphazardly.

America climbed onto the bed, too. Pushing him back into the mattress. “If you think you can stay awake... you don’t have to sleep yet.” He leaned over him and kissed him.

England kissed him back slowly, another yawn interrupting their kiss. It took mere seconds and the Englishman was dead to the world.

America leaned back up, laughing. “Yeah, I thought so.” He climbed off the bed so he could work off England’s shoes and belt. He pulled the blankets up over him and paused to loosen his own clothes.

Laying back down beside England, America watched him sleep for a moment, a soft smile on his face. He closed his eyes and was soon drifting off, one arm thrown over England’s waist.

***

_April 14, 1912_

When England woke he found himself tucked in an embrace. Inhaling deeply, he recognized the man's scent and England relaxed, nosing America's collarbone. He would never admit it, but this was one of his favorite ways to wake, surrounded by America's larger frame, shielded from the outside world. “I told you I wasn't drunk. No headache.” England prodded America. He had been surprised when he was awake before the other was.

America made a sleepy sound, yawning. “You were tired though.”

“You accused me of being drunk. You were wrong.” He yawned as well, wiggling his fingers, arms wrapped between their chests. Closing his eyes he relaxed once again against America. “I was right.”

“I was working with the information I had at the time,” America said, voice trailing off in his half wakefulness.

“Ah.” He yawned. “I won't let you live this down.”

“Sure thing,” America said, pressing his nose against England’s hair.  

With a noise of approval, England wiggled his hands from their trap and slipped them around the other. “Good.” He was tempted to remain there, but he could tell from the light seeping through the curtain that it was time to get up.

“We should turn in early tonight.”

“Really now? Whatever for?”

“So I can have you in my bed,” he replied, bluntly. He stretched.

England turned red. “Well, look at you being self-confident.”

“It’s a new century,” America teased. “So, what do you think?”

England coughed. “I really shouldn't indulge you... you'll become spoiled.”

America laughed. “C’mon, we’re on the grandest ship in the world.”

“Exactly. Spoiled.”

“Or just special.” America shifted so that they were laying nose to nose. “We’ve been surrounded by people this whole trip. Give me one night.”

“Hmm... I may need some good faith money.” He grinned.

“My money is in my room.”

It took all of England’s power to not roll his eyes. “I guess a more physical payment is in order then.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? What were you thinking?” America said, brushing his fingers on the back of England’s neck.

Arching slightly in response, England gave America an approving look. “I can't believe you put me to bed with my sweaty clothes on.”

“It’s easier to get your clothes off when you are conscious enough to cooperate.” America leaned his head down, pressing a kiss to England’s jaw as he began to loosen the buttons of his shirt.

“Is that a fact?” England mused, lifting his hips when America made his way to the bottom of his shirt. His own hands traced America's spine through his shirt, thumbs pressing into his lumbar.

America shifted closer to him at the urging of England’s hands as he began to work on his trousers. “See, easier.”

“Oh, I don't know. There's no tangle of limbs then,” England countered, with a sigh of relief as his clothes loosened.

“That can come later right?” America said, sliding the fabric down England’s legs.

“I think you’re confused.” He kicked off the trousers as they caught around his ankles. “Well...” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Maybe I'll let you in on how flexible I am tonight.”

America hooked his hands around England’s thighs to pull him against him. “I look forward to it.”

England eyed him with a grin. “I can sit here and talk about it all day long.”

“You know me, I’d rather explore it than have someone lecture me about it.” He ran a hand over England’s side, then brushing against his stomach.

“Honestly, I'm surprised you found anything with how slow you are,” he goaded.

“It takes a while to get to know something.” Rolling on top of him, America kissed him again, “Now do you want me to be in a hurry or take it slow?”

England sighed, dropping his head back against his pillow. “How about we go get breakfast?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly, no.” He shrugged.

America leaned up on his elbows. “You don’t want to do this right now. Is that it?”

England rubbed at his temple. “I don't want to... run things right now. I need tea first.”

“If I take the lead are you going to follow or fight me?”

England hesitated. “What do you mean?” England searched blue eyes.

“It’s a simple question. If I’m in charge, are you going to follow? Or are you going to try and take over?”

“You taking charge?” England eyed him carefully. “Can you do that? Changing it up in the bedroom?”

“You act like I have no ideas of my own. I’ve had plenty of my own fantasies about what I’d like to do to you, I just don’t... I don’t want you to pull away.”

England tucked his hands beneath his head. “Enlighten me.”

“Well...” A flush crept over America’s cheeks. “Quite a few of them involve doing to you what you’ve done to me. Even when I’ve been inside you, you were above me. I want...” He swallowed, embarrassment at voicing what he wanted out loud cutting off his words for a moment. “I want you just like this with your legs and arms wrapped around me. Or you know, up against the wall like you threatened to do to me my first time. I’ve thought a lot about that. You better not laugh.”

England’s breath caught in his throat as he stared up at America. Out of all things he expected the other to say that was not it. He has expected something out of the box, something one would only see in a brothel. Not something so... intimate. His chest clenched and the words on his tongue evaporated. He didn't know how to respond to that. He'd only been in such a position with one other nation, a nation he was positive was going to be his partner forever. But that had crumbled apart. England swallowed. “Alfred...”

America looked back at him, his face open and hopeful for a moment. When no other words came from England’s mouth his expression slid into the false smile that England had seen America wear more than once when dealing with other nations. It was as if he had put on a mask. “Maybe we should go get breakfast.” He leaned up, slipping his legs over the side of the bed.

“Alfred.” He sighed. “Come back here.”

“Arthur, I’m not...” He turned to look at him. “We’ve been through a lot together and... well, you asked what I thought about. You know now.”

“Alfred...” England sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I...” _Shit. I should have just... fuck._ “Alfred, let's see how tonight unfolds,” he said carefully.

“You asked. I wasn’t demanding anything... I... yeah, let’s just see what happens tonight.” The smile was warmer this time, more genuine.

England gestured for America to come back to bed. “Come here.” Shifting, America lay back down beside him. He took his hand threading their fingers together. England wasn't pleased with the direction things had gone, but there wasn't much he could do about that now. “Where's my down payment?” he teased.

America looked down, shifting so he could hook an arm around England’s middle. His fingers went to the base of England’s spine. “What do you want?” He bumped his nose against England’s, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“What do you think?” England grinned, rolling over to sit on the others hips.

America’s hands landed on England’s thighs, fingers possessive on his skin. He smiled up at him, desire flaring in his face. “Done.”

“And?” He leaned over to press a kiss to America's chest. “However.” He shifted. “Now I'm starving.”

“You’re not serious.” He hooked a hand behind England’s neck, pulling him closer.

“I am serious.” His response was punctuated by a growl from his stomach and his pale cheeks turned pink. “Sorry, lad. It would have to be quick anyways.”

America groaned a little. “I’m making sure you’re fed for tonight,” he teased. “You are going to eat dinner and then we’re going to leave and I’m keeping you in bed with me until dawn at the very least.”

“Is that a promise, Jones?” His hand drew small circles on his belly.

“I promise.”


	10. Two Per Door Please Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOOBERS!! 
> 
> The final chapter of 4.5! I hope everyone is still enjoying this so far! I also hope that our weekly updates haven't been too much considering our chapter lengths! (A constant worry from Ashels)
> 
> But anyways! Onto Book 4 things are really going to kick into gear here as we move through WW1 and then to the War everyone has been waiting for!!
> 
> ******Heads up! We will be taking a hiatus for a week before going back to updating weekly!***
> 
> Let us know how you think their relationship is progressing! Shout out to all the new readers and reaching out to the ones who have been here since painful day one...so long ago...omg we are getting old!!

“As good as that supper was I rather look forward to eating back at home.” England sighed, placing his hand on his belly. They walked away from the dining hall, leaving the noise and gossip behind them. 

 

“Well, before you leave I’ll have to make sure you’re well fed in my home,” America said, following close behind him.

 

“Well fed? Are you trying to allude to something again?”  England scowled.

 

“No, I’m talking about how I’m going to make you a steak. American beef is so much better than those skinny cows you have in England,” America teased.

 

“My cows are fine!” England scowled, slapping his arm as they got to his door.

 

America caught his forearm. “When we go inside I hope we’re not going to be talking about your cows.” America grinned at him.

 

“No, I am going to school you at cards.” He unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I had a bottle of brandy delivered.”

 

America followed, reaching up to pull his tie loose. “Is ‘cards’ supposed to mean something?”

 

“Yes, cards. A good old game of Rummy.” England nodded closing the door.

 

“What do I get when I win?”

 

Locking the door behind him, England leaned against it. “What else was I supposed to talk about in the hall, Alfred?”

 

America laughed. “I knew it was a say one thing and mean another. Does that mean I don’t have to sit through a few hands before I can do this?” America caught England against the door, tangling his fingers in his tie, mouths meeting.

 

England grunted in surprise. “No patience, huh?” He pulled back for a breath, head dropping back against the door, taking a deep breath as Alfred’s mouth moved down his throat. “Alfred.”

 

“Hmmm?” he asked, pausing. 

 

“You're going to stop now to talk?!” England scowled. America chuckled, forging back to his original path, fingers undoing the buttons of England’s dinner shirt one by one. England’s hands found the collar of his dinner jacket and America paused so that England could begin to pull it off.

 

Leaning forward England pulled at America's jacket and collar. “Alfred.” He pressed a kiss to America's mouth.

 

America realized that he’d missed him. They’d been so busy over the turn of the century that they’d barely been able to scrape a few minutes at a time and it was always about business. He usually didn’t have time to think about getting England in his bed. Slowly, he worked England out of his shirt, fingers brushing along old scars and tracing the lines of his ribs. England’s hands wrapped around his back and pulled his shirt out of his trousers, fussing with the suspenders for a moment. Then his fingers were on the skin of his back. Shifting his arms so he could slide them out of his suspenders, America pulled back slightly to look at the heat in England’s eyes. The other smiled at him, tightening his hold on his shirt collar and driving him backward through the sitting room until America’s back bumped into the wall.

 

“So slow,” England murmured, pressing a kiss behind America's ear, dropping the suspenders so they slapped America's thighs. Fingers finding his shirt buttons, a bite accompanying every button undone. England grinned at the strangled noise that came from America as the British man made his way down the small strip of blond hair on his belly. “Perhaps we should wake the whole floor, hmm? Make you shout?”

 

“If you think you can.” America grinned. His stomach quivered beneath England’s mouth. He twined his fingers in England’s hair, leaning further back into the wall.

 

“It's happened before.” England shrugged, grabbing the top button with his teeth, glancing up at America with hooded eyes. 

 

Biting his lip, America looked back. He felt possessiveness swell in his chest. England wasn’t going to be thinking about anyone else. “Maybe it’ll happen again.”

 

“I also don't fancy getting thrown off this ship,” England murmured, rubbing his hands along America's inner thighs. “Had that happen once, it was awful.”

 

“Don’t worry.” America ran his hand over England’s hair. “I wouldn’t let them throw us overboard.”

 

“Uh huh,” he hummed, nimble fingers undoing America's trousers and sliding them down. “It’s like you were ready for me.”

 

“Well, we did have this pla-- ah!” His words were cut off by England’s touch.

 

England chuckled, pressing a kiss to America's hip before he watched as Americas nails scrapped at the wall as England charged himself with using his tongue for other things than talking, gripping Americas thighs to pull him closer.

 

America’s eyes slid closed, body stealing his focus. He could feel his legs beginning to shake, he focused on staying upright, fingers of one hand hooking into the bend of a wall sconce over his head. “Arthur...” 

 

England hummed, fingers working their way to the base of America's spine. He ignored the grunt and warning from the other, working America through it all, keeping him close until America made a noise of discomfort alluding to his sensitivity.

 

America’s head thudded against the wall when he tilted it back, trying to catch his breath. As England stood, America reached out to brush his fingers over the other’s cheeks. Before he could catch him in his arms, England stepped away, walking over to pour himself a glass of the brandy. America stepped out of his trousers, bending down to strip off his socks. He felt he could feel everything and what he wanted most was England’s skin against his own. He shrugged out of his now sweat damp shirt and felt England’s eyes rake over him. He stepped forward, standing in front of England and splaying his fingers over the hardness in his trousers. 

 

England inhaled through his nose heavily, taking a deep drink, eyes never leaving America’s. Lowering the glass he swirled it about for a moment. “Cards?”

 

“You want to play cards in your position?” America pressed forward, squeezing just a little.  

 

Exhaling shakily England cleared his throat and set the glass down, stepping close, chests flush. “I really want to play cards. But if you think you can entertain me better?”

 

America’s smile widened, the challenge sinking into his blood, warming it again. He grasped the hem of England’s trousers, undoing the fastening, they slid down England’s hips. “I wasn’t the only one thinking about tonight, then?” he whispered, fingers sliding inside the fabric as he kissed England hard and fast.

 

England gripped the hair at America's nape, yanking his head back with a growl. “Don't be coy with me, unless you want me to bend you over the table and take you right here,” he threatened, a shiver running up his spine. With that inhuman strength he was sure America could fuck him into the table, breaking it. England groaned, rocking into the American’s touch at the fantasy.

 

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Despite England’s painful grip on his hair, he decided to push his luck. He leaned more closely into England’s space, the other slightly off balance. He used the leverage to get his arm around England’s waist, tipping him backward as he began sliding his hand against him.

 

England panicked, grabbing at America's shoulders with a groan. “Alfred, what are you doing!?”

 

“Entertaining you better than cards.” He pressed his forehead against England’s shoulder, his breath fanning out over England’s skin as he made his motions more deliberate, changing pace at any little catch in England’s breathing, any sound that snuck out from between his lips.

 

“A-alfred you're going to drop me.” England panicked. Gripping at America's shoulders, heels digging into the carpet.

 

“Trust me. You’re not gonna fall.” He adjusted his hold around England’s back, holding him more securely. He pulled his hand out of England’s trousers, using both arms to hold him up, picking him up off his feet. “Trust me,” he repeated.

 

England gasped quietly, gripping at America's shoulders. Eyes darkening with desire, England stared at him, feet dangling. He nodded, unable to offer verbal confirmation.

 

With England’s nod, America slowly moved his hand back inside England’s clothes, touching his body and seeming to find a new way to spread sensation across sensitive flesh with every little sound England made. He tugged at the hem of England’s trousers, sending the fabric even further down his legs so that England could shift until they were bare against each other. America pressed breathy kisses into England’s shoulder as he worked.

 

“I'm not made of glass, Alfred!” England bit out in frustration, his fingers gripping the hair at the base of America's neck in impatience. 

 

Pressing a biting kiss to England’s pulse, America increased his motions. England tugged harder as he grew closer, America groaning a little at the roughness. 

 

England hissed and grabbed America’s hand. “Enough.”

 

America closed his fingers around England’s. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“Bed,” England grunted, “On your back or belly. You choose.”

 

Lowering England to his feet, America stepped back. Walking backwards through the bedroom door. He dropped onto his back on the blankets.

 

England stalked after him carefully, eyeing him.  Stepping over to the wardrobe he dug in it for a moment, coming out with a small bottle. Walking over to the chest at the end of the bed he stepped onto it, putting one foot after the other he stood over the other before dropping to his knees above America. “I,” he placed his hands on each side of America’s head, “am not,”  he popped open the bottle, “made of glass.” Sitting back he poured some into his free hand. “Do you understand?”   
  


“You want me to knock you around?” America asked, leaning up on his elbows.

 

England’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t label it like some man mistreating his wife.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” He hooked his legs around England. “I know you’re not made of glass.”

 

England scowled as he was knocked forward “Alfred.” All of his misgivings about the crudeness of his language was wiped away with his arousal and irritation. “I wanted you here to fuck. I didn’t ask you,” his voice changed to almost mocking, “make love to me.” He cleared his throat “To have sex. I asked for a fucking. Do I need to clarify? Shall I send you a book?”

 

Confusion crossed America’s face, then a frown crossed his features. “Why can’t you fucking meet me halfway? It’s like you want me to apologize for how I feel.”

 

England stared at him. “What are you on about? Where is this talk of emotions coming in? I just asked for good old fashioned rough sex!” He leaned further back, giving himself the room to put distance between them if it came to that. 

 

America sat up, scooting back to the head of the bed. “I thought that was what we were doing! Is this about this morning? I’m not going to be sorry for wanting what I want. If everything between us has just been casual fucks for you, we’re not on the same page. It’s not like that for me.” He grabbed at the comforter, pulling it up towards where he sat so he could cover himself up.

 

England gave a frustrated groan, getting to his feet. “We have already had this discussion.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You wanted this to be exclusive so it became so! I stopped my relations with the others because you didn't like it! And now you want to cry at me about casual fucks!” he snapped. “We discussed this when I opened my bed to you!”

 

America opened his mouth to argue that the conversation must have been in England’s head, because he couldn’t recall one. Then his mind caught on the second part of England’s shout. His eyes widened. “I’m the only one?” 

 

England crossed his arms. “Have you seen Ludwig around? Francis? Antonio? Feliciano? Yao?” he growled “Vicente?” He almost continued the list, glaring at America. 

 

Looking down, America stared at his hands for a moment, then looked back up at England. “No, I haven’t. That... I didn’t realize you had done that for me.” 

 

England huffed, staring at the window in irritation. “Decades,” he muttered. 

 

“Tell me what you want,” America said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. “I told you what I wanted this morning. Tell me what you want. Tell me how I can give it to you.”

 

England huffed, rubbing his forehead. “I... I can’t... It’s not something... you explain... it’s not a school lesson.” He sighed and moved around the bed. “Move over it's late.” 

 

Making space for him, America slid down beneath the blankets. England lay down with his back to him. Swallowing, America wasn’t sure whether he should touch him or not. “Do you not believe me when I tell you that I’ve never been with anybody else? I’ve never wanted anyone else. I... the only things I know are the ones we’ve done together. Well, I did flip through one of your books one time. I’m not sure how some of those positions even work.” He gave a half-hearted laugh, trying to break the tension.

 

“Stop trying to impress me,” England ordered, peering over his shoulder to look at America. “I didn’t ask for something impressive or something from one of my books. Which I can't believe you read by the way!” He frowned 

 

America reached over and grasped England’s shoulder, pulling him towards him so he could look at his face. “Can we start again? Pretend like that didn’t happen? I mean, I won’t forget all of it. You’re pretty good. You don’t have to school me, just show me.”

 

“You can't act like you are always going to break me. Or you just lay there. It’s something you learn as you go, Alfred.” He sighed “You act like you’re competing, just go with it.”

 

“If I go along with you, you need to go along with me, too.”

 

“I tried,” England huffed “But it was like pulling teeth to get you to do anything. Are you scared?”

 

“Aren’t you?”

 

“No. Why would I be?”

 

“I don’t want you to be. I... sometimes I surprise myself with my own power. If I hurt you on accident... I don’t want that.”

 

“Alfred... I am not glass. That’s the last time I am saying that.” He sighed.

 

“I know. Can we try again?” His hand slid across England’s stomach, more confidence in the motion despite the trepidation still in America’s gaze.

 

“Thank goodness,” England murmured. America wasted no time in learning forward, pulling the other into a hot kiss. “Finally.” 

 

Running his hand down England’s side he hooked his hand behind England’s thigh, hitching it up over his hip as he rolled on top of him. He kissed England back hard, fingers of his other hand tangling in England’s hair. His fingers tightened, tugging on his hair when England lifted his hips to press them together. The hand on England’s thigh slid upwards, a possessive grip landing on his backside. 

 

England's back arched in response, groaning quietly against America's mouth. Smaller hands gripped at America's shoulders as his hips canted slowly, gasping as his movements were halted, America crushing their hips together. “Al-” His words were cut off as Americas tongue wrapped around his, England moaned in delight.

 

Pressing him into the mattress, he moved his body against England’s, arousal sparking in his body once again as England shifted beneath him. He wanted to feel every inch of him as he moved his hands across bare skin. When he came to England’s arms, he took his wrists in his hands and pushed his hands up over his head, holding him against the mattress.

 

England's eyes flew open and he stared at America in surprise as he pulled back for a breath.  Pale chest heaving England swallowed. “Alfred?”

 

Shifting both wrists into his left hand, he brushed his right over England’s chest. “Where did you leave the oil?”

 

“It fell off the bed. Right side.” He exhaled.

 

“Stay put,” America said, shifting off him so that he could lean over the edge of the bed to look for the vial.

 

England say up, scooting back against the headboard, watching America. “Don't fall over.”

 

“I’ve got it.” He stretched and came back up with the bottle. “You moved.” 

 

“Yes.” He stretched out his legs, eyeing America. “What of it?”

 

Reaching out, America grabbed one of his ankles and pulled England across the mattress. “I told you to stay put.”

 

England's hands scrabbled for the headboard as he was dragged “So?” he grunted. “I wanted to sit up.”

 

He let go of him and moved closer, leaning over him and pressing his mouth to England’s neck. He brushed his teeth over his pulse, tongue pressing against his skin. “Fine, you sit.” He scooted back, bumping England’s legs apart. “I have an idea anyway.” He pressed a kiss to England’s stomach, hitching one of England’s legs onto his shoulder.

 

England's head dropped back against the mattress. “I think i can get behind this,” he breathed.

 

America chuckled for a moment, his breath warm on England’s belly. He adjusted England’s other leg and gave him a heated look before taking him into his mouth. 

 

England groaned, thighs clenching as he arched off the bed. His hands made their way into America’s hair, heels pressing hard into the mattress. “Fuck, Alfred!”

 

Putting a hand on his belly, America held him to the bed, responding to each quiver of England’s body and sound that he made. He pulled off, England close to the edge. 

 

“Alfred, what are you doing!?” England grunted.

 

America watched him, giving England time to ask or tell him no. He picked up the oil and dripped some onto his fingers. America slid his hand beneath England’s body. He prodded him gently, watching England to see how he’d react. 

 

England breathed heavily through his nose. “I will not be on the bottom,” he murmured, flinching as America prepped him. “Ah! There!” England’s vision went white for the briefest of moments and he jerked violently.

 

Slowly pulling away, America shifted so that he was beside him. “Then come over here,” America said, pulling England closer so that the other could straddle his hips. “I can... meet you... half... fuck!” England’s fingers were on him, his body more sensitive than he’d thought. 

 

“I don't have to meet you half anywhere, “England growled, grabbing America harshly by the hair and shoving him to the mattress. It was swift and England grunted in pain as he all but dropped onto him. “Fuck...” 

 

America’s hands gripped England’s hips. “Ah!” he cried when England adjusted himself. He shifted himself, wanting to get the leverage to drive their bodies together.

 

England leaned heavily on his hands, balancing himself on America’s chest. He looked himself over with a air of disappointment, he peered down at America, sniffing before glancing at the headboard.  _ I should have liquored him up a bit. _ “Are you ready?” 

 

America didn’t answer. His fingers tightened on England’s legs and he bucked up into England.

  
England swore, jerking forward, his hands gripping the headboard with a groan. “Alfred…”

 

Watching him, America moved, increasing the speed and the snap of his hips watching for any sign that he was hurting him. Sweat began to bead on England’s brow, his eyes closed in concentration. “So...” America couldn’t focus on the right word. His fingers reached around to the back of England’s neck. He wanted to kiss him. Shifting upwards, America tried to reach him, mouth finding England’s throat.

 

England groaned loudly “Don’t hold back,” he barked.

 

His fingers slid into England’s hair, holding him tight as he directed him into a kiss. It was rough and breathless, growing closer and closer to the edge.  

***

 

England gasped in approval as one of America’s hands grabbed his hip, the force undoubtedly leaving a bruise on his skin as the nation beneath him began to lose focus. England swore as he was practically slammed down onto the other by America’s pull, dots dancing across his eyes. America’s hands in his hair pulled harshly,  hand settling against the back of his neck and England coughed as the fingers wrapped around his throat. The boy was really losing control of his strength. Grabbing America’s wrist, England yanked his hand off, and the blue eyed blond grabbed the headboard for a singular moment, a crack resonating the room as both hands clenched. The display was the final thing that sent England over the edge, and he was distinctly aware of someone crying out in pleasure. Yet, it took him a moment after his mind blanked to realize the sound was coming from his own mouth as he writhed atop of America. 

 

***

 

America couldn’t see straight as the waves of climax washed over him. His mind had one focus. England and not dropping him or letting him fall off the bed. He leaned backwards, misjudging the distance and bumping his head on the headboard as England slumped against his chest. America ran his fingers more gently over England’s head. His breaths were heavy. 

 

“I’m going to call in sick tomorrow... walking.” England groaned and shifted, his left hip aching. Looking down he felt a thrill as he saw the finger shaped bruises already beginning to form. They always did form fast and stay for long, and if the feeling of his neck was any sign he would have bruising there to. Another thrill sent a shudder through him and he nosed the underside of America’s jaw.

 

“I think we could call it a late morning.” America tilted his face, brushing a light kiss against England’s mouth. 

 

England nodded, stretching and it took effort to not sigh as a noise of horror escaped America. “I asked for it.” He looked at America who was staring at the bruises blooming over England’s skin. 

 

He lightly touched them, as if he could smooth away the damage. His eyes landed on England’s face. “You wanted me to mark you?” His hand lay over the bruises as if he could protect England from who he’d been even a few minutes before. It wasn’t the first time he’d bruised him, but it always surprised him that England never really cared.

 

“You could have done much more and I wouldn't have complained... although i am glad that I wasn't the headboard.” He gestured to the headboard behind him that was splintered and cracked.

 

America glanced up and blushed. “But you liked it?”

 

England gave him a look. “I saw you holding back and I almost stopped and made you swear you would knock it off.”

 

“I guess that’s a yes.” America smiled at him and wrapped an arm around his back.

 

England rolled his eyes. “Don't get cocksure.”

 

“I’ve never heard you make that sound before.”

 

England turned red. “What the bloody hell are you speaking of!?”

 

“Nothing,” America kissed the end of his nose. “I...” he yawned. “I might need a moment if we’re going again.”

 

“I have no desire for you to fall asleep in the middle of it all,” he grouched. “Especially when you’re going to make comments and then not explain.” 

 

“You sounded honest then... you can tell me about the things you want.” America gently ran his hand up and down England’s back.

 

England sighed in response, clearing his throat to mask the noise before muttering. “I'll have to pay to replace the headboard anyways might as well break it all.”

 

“Break it?”

 

“You broke that part of the headboard already. Might as well break the rest since I am going to have to replace it already,” England drawled leaning back. 

 

“Was there something off with the brandy? You want me to break the furniture?” America looked at England the way he did when he was talking to the fairies.

 

England rolled his eyes, moving off of him with a sigh. “I cannot... just forget it.”

 

“Tell me.”

  
“I already did, and it went over your head.” England stretched out on the bed beside him with a groan. He looked himself over again, touching his neck. “I am uneven.”

 

America bit his lip, looking at him. “Be gentle with me now and I’ll be rough with you later,” the words came out quickly. “I need to catch my breath first.”

 

England looked up at him in surprise. “Really now? You are getting old, Alfred”

 

“My first centennial was hard on me,” America teased. “Maybe I like you like this.” He hooked his arms under England’s and rolled on top of him. He lowered his head, finding England’s lips with his own. 

 

England allowed the kiss, returning it lazily, tilting his head to further deepen the kiss before pulling back. “Like me like what?”

 

“Letting me be close to you.”

 

“That’s how sex works,” England snorted, bringing his knees up around America’s hips.

 

“No, I mean... it’s more than just this.” He ran his right hand up England’s thigh. 

 

“Are you going to give me a matching set?” England asked quietly. “I can take you this time on your back?” he swallowed a yawn.

 

Squeezing England’s hip gently. “If you want to go again.”

 

“You make it sound like I am having to drag you kicking and screaming.” He rolled his eyes, rubbing his cheek against his pillow. 

 

With a quick motion, America rolled, hauling England with him. “Maybe not drag, but didn’t you want screaming?” He grinned at him.

 

England stared down at America in surprise, hands against his chest. “First you want slow and now you want to scream?”

 

“Maybe I want it all.”

 

“But what if all your stalling has lulled me into complacency. How about I let you choose the position and continue lulling me into sleep?”

 

“Fuck me, Arthur.” America grabbed him by the hip squeezing him. 

 

England blinked several times, the sleepy look that had taken over his features left, exchanged for surprise. “Really?”

 

“It’s not like it’s the first time.” America picked up one of England’s hands, toying with his fingers for a moment before bringing his hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the palm. “Fuck me.”

 

England breathed. “Convince me.”

 

America tilted his head, watching England’s face. Fingers tightening on England’s hips he shifted, pushing England backwards so he could open his legs. He reached over his head to take hold of the headboard. “Are we doing this?”

 

England eyed him carefully before looking for the bottle of oil. “Sure you don’t want to walk tomorrow?”

 

“I can take it.”

 

“All right.” England grinned, grabbing America under the knees, swooping in to steal a kiss. 

 

***

 

“Alfred tell them to go away and the others to shut up.” England groaned as shouting and a  pounding at the door woke up. He could feel America’s steady heart beat against his back as the other curled around him. It was once again that England was able to experience that feeling he was experiencing now, the feeling of safety and care. He turned over slightly to press a kiss against Alfred’s adam's apple. “Alfred,” he whined. 

 

“All right, maybe it’s about that strange shudder that went through the engine or something.” He yawned and crawled out of the bed to pulled on a robe. England could hear the voices in the parlor and the door clicking shut. America came back into the room, not getting back into the bed. Instead, he started pulling on his clothes. 

 

England rolled onto his back. “Alfred, come back to bed, the sheets are getting cold,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep in his eyes.

 

“They want everyone to come up to the top deck. Something’s wrong.”

 

“Alfred its ‘an unsinkable ship’ remember?” England gestured for him to come over. “Come on.”

 

America came back to the blankets, sitting on the edge of the bed. “They wouldn’t wake us up in the middle of the night if something wasn’t wrong.”

 

England sat up with a sigh. “Fine. Hand me my clothes please.”

 

Gathering his clothes, America brought them to him. He went to England’s wardrobe. “You have a coat in here, right?” he asked, pulling it open.

 

“Yes, although I highly doubt it will fit you.” England shrugged his clothes back on, buttoning his shirt and shoving his feet into his shoes. 

 

“We probably have time to stop at my room. I just wanted to make sure.” Finding it, America pulled it out and tossed it toward England. “I don’t know why they didn’t just say what it was or waited until morning.”

 

“Who knows,” England muttered, folding the coat over his arm. “You go get your coat and I'll speak to Edward. I’ll make sure they know to let you through.”

 

“Okay, I’ll meet you near the helm in just a few minutes.”

 

***

 

“An iceberg?” England hissed as Edward shut the door behind him. An evacuation of the ship had been started. “How did you hit a blasted iceberg, Edward? The things are massive. This ship was advertised as unsinkable. That’s why so many people of this high importance are here on this boat all at one time.” England sighed, running his hands through his hair, he ignored the twinge in his hip as he paced the small room. It was hard to think over the panicking yells and sobs outside the room. “Is there anybody near here that can pick people up?”

 

“They won’t be here for hours,” Edward grunted, looking over his logs in a hurried panic. 

 

England swore, rubbing his hands over his temple. “What now?”

***

 

The sense that something was very wrong settled on America as he walked through the crowd standing inside the grand hallway and out onto the deck. Inside, no one seemed to know exactly what was going on. Outside, whistles were being blown as the lifeboats were getting attached to their hoists. He picked up his pace to find England coming out of the captain’s office behind several other individuals. America recognized Mr. Andrews, the ship’s architect clutching his blueprints under his arms. The man was pale, fear etched across his features. America caught up with England. “What’s going on?”

 

“She hit an iceberg, and is going down,” he said.

 

His words didn’t sink in. “How is that even possible?”

 

“Apparently, it is bad luck to claim that she was a ship God himself couldn’t even sink.” He shook his head. “I-”  a shudder ran through the ship and steel screamed, the deck shifting violently beneath them, England shouting in panic. 

 

“Shit...” The horrible sound went back to being covered by the noise of men working. “We’ll just get everyone on a lifeboat and it’ll be fine. Look we’re not that far from one.”

 

England grabbed ahold of America’s forearms as the boat lurched again.  Breathing in deeply through his nose, England looked up at him or had planned. England’s stomach turned as he realized that suddenly he was eye to eye with the America nation. He looked at their feet, and then at the others around them. The deck was angled. “Alfred, we need to get women and children on those boats.”

 

America caught him by the arm. “Is there not enough room for everyone?”

 

England looked at him silently for a moment. “It’s an unsinkable ship with over 2,200 people onboard.”  

 

America swallowed, realization sinking in. “How many are getting off?”

 

England’s hands tightened on his forearms. “Nations across the world will be blanketed in black.” 

 

America’s eyes widened. “We have to do something!”

 

“I said we need to help get women and children on the boats.” 

 

America nodded. “We would cover more ground if we split up, but...” He hadn’t let go of him, fingers still tight on England’s arm.

 

“That's a good idea” England looked at him. “Splitting up is the best option.”

 

“If there’s room, get on a boat, okay? I’ll find you.”

England paused, shaking his head and with one final squeeze of his hand and disappeared into the panicked crowd. Everything seemed to be growing more chaotic by the minute. Children and women were being loaded into rescue boats and fights broke out as some men tried to get aboard as well. England pushed through the crowd, the sound of music growing louder. England’s footsteps faltered as he found the source. The musicians had taken their instruments to the deck and started to play. He could see the resolve on their faces, a group of men. Members of the group who would most likely not survive the sinking of this boat. 

 

England gasped, gripping the railing as the screeching of steel mixed with the screaming of people. Looking on in horror, England watched as the ropes of some boats snapped, people lost their balance, falling and sliding down the wet deck to scramble to their feet again. The sound of roaring water filled his ears and England's stomach fell as he watched water swallowing the deck, lights going out. 

 

The smoke stacks had lost their moorings.

 

Screams grow louder as people began racing up the deck, climbing over each other as they desperately tried to reach the highest points, avoiding the icy water.  England felt the shift of the deck beneath his feet and swore, she wasn’t going to stay up for much longer.

 

***

 

They had gotten the last remaining boat rowing away from the ship several minutes ago, America shivered, dripping wet from a wave that had been thrown from the collapse of the smoke stacks. The deck shifted abruptly and he slipped, catching hold of the railing on the edge of the ship as it began to tilt. He pulled himself up by the railing, trying to find England in the chaos. He could see him ahead. “Arthur!” He couldn’t tell if he’d heard him over the noise. 

 

***

 

England squeezed his eyes shut as steal screamed again and the boat began to tip faster. Anyone who wasn't holding onto something began falling down the deck. England muttered curses as his shoes gained no traction on the deck. The sound of glass shattering, joined the sound of the creaking iron as water flooded the floors below. Searing pain flooded through England's head as a man slammed into him, catching him by surprise and breaking the hold his fingers had on the railing.

 

Adrenaline rushed through America’s blood as he saw England begin to fall. Before he even knew what he was doing he’d let go himself so he could grab hold of him. His hands reached for anything else to stop their fall, but the deck was too smooth. 

 

A deafening crack and suddenly their momentum slowed. People screamed as the ship slammed into the water, sending a wave out from the side. Pushing himself to his feet, America pulled England upright as he made his way to the rail. 

 

England shook his head violently, the fall, the breath being knocked from him, realizing it was America and now practically being dragged as America grabbed the railing had him out of sorts. He choked out the other’s name as he was pulled tightly against the other, finding a foothold in the railing bars. He inhaled sharply, fingers digging into America's shoulders as he watched the lights flicker before dying completely. “Alfred!”

 

“We need to get off the ship. I won’t let go of you.” 

 

England laughed loudly at the comment. “We have but no choice to get off-” his retort was cut short as the ship began tilting again, moving towards a ninety degree angle, water rushing towards them as it swallowed the ship.

 

***

 

The water was cold, so cold that a memory of falling through the ice when he was little came right to his memory. England had been there then, too. At least this time, there was no barrier of ice that kept him from coming back to the surface immediately. When he broke out of the water, he could hear England coughing beside him. The ship wasn’t quite gone, the last of it sinking quickly above the water leaving churning waves in its wake.

 

***

 

“Bloody hell.” England coughed violently, expelling ice water from his lungs. It was freezing. Even a nation would start feeling the waters effects in time, it was unlikely humans would survive a substantial length of time in the water.  And then he began to sink, the terrible reminder that he couldn't swim standing out in his brain as he shouted.

 

America caught him before he was under for too long. “Hang on to me. There’s gotta be some things that float.” 

 

England clung to him coughing and shuddering, a mix of cold and panic rushing over him. He twisted the his fingers into the soaked fabric of Alfred coat. When the ship and plunged beneath the water he was certain he was going to drown and then again after he had miraculously surfaced and sunk again he was certain that was it. The relief that he had found Alfred again amongst the terror and confusion of the accident clung at the edges of his panic, holding it together, fragile.

 

The water churned with people calling for help. “Why aren’t they coming back?” America said, trying to see if there was anything to hold onto. There was half of a broken deck chair. It wasn’t much but they could hold onto it. He looked over at England, frost already forming in his hair. “Did you hear anything about any nearby ships?” He started shivering. He clenched his jaw trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

 

“Mn, yes... couple hours,” England murmured, his head on America's shoulder. He blinked tiredly as all the adrenaline was drained from his body by the cold water. Trying to block out the fading screams he pressed his cheek into America's shoulder to look at the stars “So many... no coal smog or anything obscuring them out here.”

 

America looked up. “It’s like back home... away from the cities. Might be as cold though.” A half-hearted laugh came out, the shivering becoming more uncontrollable. He looked around at the rest of the people in the water. Over a thousand, had to be. He wanted to do something, but unless he could create a boat out of nothing, there was no remedy.

 

“Mn, it's nice.” England closed his eyes, adjusting his hold around America's neck. “Nice,” he murmured. “You are always warm.”

 

“When we get to New York,” America’s teeth chattered, “I’m getting out all the blankets and sitting in front of the fire. That would be good to warm up, huh?”

 

“We need to find something to grab and get on top of I'm tired.” England sighed. 

 

“It looks like there’s something bigger over there. Come on.” America hoisted England, so he could hold him in one arm as he swam toward. It was dark, the light from the stars not offering much. He could see the lanterns and flashlights on the lifeboats, but none of them seemed to be moving closer. “Come get us.” The human noise that had been nearly overwhelming earlier had grown quieter. His arms were feeling heavy from the cold. He bumped into someone. “Sorry.” The person didn’t respond.

 

“Alfred, just find something for me to hold onto. And then you can go” England whispered as if talking too loud was an affront to the situation. They were now swimming through a graveyard.

 

“Go where?” A more complete piece of a deck chair floated up in front of them. He took England to it, and let him hook his arms on top.

 

“I don't know, see if there's something bigger. Or if any of the lifeboats have room.” Something to keep the boy busy. The water was leeching his energy.  He didn't even have the energy to cast a simple warming spell.

 

America looked at him, squinting through the darkness. He’d somehow managed to keep hold of his glasses, but they had frosted over. “I’m not leaving you.”

 

“Alfred, I can't go find someone. I can't swim. You need to go, just leave me here and come back.”

 

“I’ll just take you with me. I can carry you.”

 

England opened his eyes again to glare at the blond. “I could feel you slowing down. Try that and you'll drown us both.”

 

America was silent for a moment, his breath fogging in the air. “Arthur...” He reached out, his fingers stiff as he tried to put his hand on top of England’s. “I’m going to go find a boat. I’ll come back.”

 

“You do that.” England sighed, leaning his head on his forearms.

 

“You’ve crossed this ocean how many times? This isn’t the last one.” America came close and pressed a kiss to the side of England’s head, the frost catching on his face. He dropped off the float and began swimming towards where they could still see the lights.

 

Weaving his hands through the slates of the deck chair England dropped his head on the frozen wood, eyes closing again. He wasn't sure how much time had passed as he drifted in and out of consciousness and then there was shouting. He couldn't feel anything anymore and the shouting was harsh on his ears. He just wanted to sleep. Fingers grabbed at his arms and he cried out in pain. It seemed being touched hurt.

 

“I’ll take him.” A blanket was quickly wrapped around his shoulders and he was left leaning against someone. America had his own blanket wrapped over the top of his head. “They came back for us.” He was still shivering, but he wasn’t as pale as he’d been in the water.

 

“That's nice,” England murmured, leaning into the warmth that emanated from America, flinching as everything chafed his skin. Something nudged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t form words around the thought. “I'm gonna take a nap.” It didn't sound safe in his mind, but the desire for it was stronger.

 

“Don’t sleep yet. We have to get you warmed up first.” No one was really paying attention to them. America opened his blanket and pulled England closer against him. 

 

“I am warm. And tired.” England protested.

 

“You’re almost as cold as the water and you’re still wet.” He rubbed his arm up and down England’s back as the crew spotted another person alive in the water. “I’ll let you sleep when this boat gets back to the rest.”

 

“But I want to sleep” England sighed, wincing as a his fingers and toes began to sting. Looking up at America he swallowed dryly, reaching up to rub his thumb over the pulse in America's neck, before pulling him down and pressing his mouth to the others, thinking little of those around him.

 

He kissed England back, all the eyes nearby on the person who was struggling to get into the boat. He pulled back. “Soon,” he said. He let England rest against his chest. The rescue group scanned the water for a long time, but there were only six others pulled from the water. America watched over the edge of the boat. His tears were hot on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the frost still clinging to him.

 

England drifted in and out of consciousness, snapping at America when the other wouldn't let him sleep. It was the booming  of a ship that England cracked his eyes open for. “Alfred?”

 

It was still an hour or so before dawn, light only hinting on the horizon. “I guess our rescue boat is here.”

 

***

 

America claimed a quiet spot on the deck, leaving England there with his blanket piled on top of him. There’d been word that the crew of the RMS  _ Carpathia  _ had soup available. “I’ll be back,” he told him.

 

“Mnhm.” England nodded, curling in on himself. He had been told that he would wait until the rescue boat. They were here. England closed his eyes with sigh. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't just stayed still in the water. Maybe it would have been warmer. England swallowed as the sounds around him began to fade out. 

 

A collection of muffled voices and a familiar stale smell greeted England's senses and he groaned, rough sheets rubbing against his skin. He blinked groggily, confusion battling for attention as he squinted at bright lights and a pale ceiling. “What?”

 

“You’re awake!” A hand was on England’s forehead, smoothing his hair. England could see America smiling at him. His skin was shiny in some places, the hand on England’s forehead bandaged.

 

“Where are we?” he croaked. “What's wrong with you?”

 

“Frostbite. It’s healing. You passed out and  I couldn’t wake you up. You’re in a hospital in New York. We got here yesterday.”

 

“Yesterday, huh... frostbite...” He looked down at feet beneath the blankets “That's why I can't feel my toes.”

 

“It’s healing. If you were...” America choked up and pulled his chair closer to England’s bedside. “I wanted to take you home, but they wouldn’t let me until you woke up.”

 

England watched him for a moment. “Alfred... I’m not dead.”

 

America leaned his head on the edge of the bed. “It would have been my fault. You were in the water for so long... I shouldn’t have left you on the deck...”

 

England reached over surprised to see his own hand in bandages. He patted America's hair. “I would have fallen into the water regardless.”

 

America’s fingers wrapped up in the blanket. “I’m not gonna fail next time. I’m always going to be there to rescue you.” 

 

“Failed at what, Alfred?” England frowned. “If I remember correctly, which it is rather hazy, but you got the boat.”

 

“I almost couldn’t get them to come. They were scared to go back. One of the crew finally gave the order.”

 

“I wouldn't have died... probably just be unconscious longer.” England shifted, wincing in pain. The drugs were beginning to wear off. That's probably why he'd woken. “Please tell me you remained calm when you found me on the boat. Didn't make a scene? That would have been very ungentlemanly of you.” 

 

“I didn’t make a scene.” He lifted his head. “You almost did though, kissing me when anyone could have seen after you got pulled from the water.”

 

“I don't remember that.” England shook his head, he was a little disappointed at the American’s response.

 

“When they tried to take you from me... I might have broken a few things.” 

 

England gave him a sharp look. “Would you like to repeat that?”

 

“I couldn’t let you go. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

 

“That strength will raise questions though, Alfred,” England chided, tapping him on the nose in a show of disapproval while a happy feeling filled his chest. America hadn't wanted to let him go.

 

“They probably chalked it up to pain,” America said. “I should go find a doctor... I can get you out of here.”

 

“I would be more interested in drugs right now,” England murmured. 

 

“Do you hurt?”

 

“You could say that,” England breathed. “Too bad the opium I had was lost in my suitcase” England muttered, rolling his eyes at the horrified look on America’s face. “Oh, come on. We briefly talked about smoking it together again. I thought New York would be perfect.”

 

“Except that it’s illegal now. I’ll see if the doctors have something for pain.” He was gone for a few minutes. “Here.” He offered a small bottle and a spoon. “They said you won’t need much of the heroin.”

 

“Opium was illegal when we smoked it together remember.” England scowled and held up his hands. “Have one of the nurses pour it, I can’t really do it.” 

 

Beckoning a woman over, she took the bottle and measured it out. “I can’t even imagine what you poor boys went through.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” America replied.

 

England stayed silent, opening his mouth for the spoon. Nose wrinkling in disgust, he swallowed “Yes, thank you.” He nodded as she screwed the top back on and headed for the door. “Could you please close the door behind you?” He smiled and the woman nodded and did just that.  After the click of the door, England gave America a look. “How did you get out so fast?”

 

“Out of where?”

 

“Out of the blasted hospital? You obviously aren’t confined to a bed.”

 

“I didn’t let them put me in one. I told you I didn’t leave your side.”

 

England sighed. “You are so hard headed.” He rubbed at his eyes with a yawn. “It’s blasted cold in here.”

 

“Do you need another blanket?” 

 

England shook his head, which was suddenly softer. “I don’t take up much room...come here.”

 

America glanced at the door for a moment and then got up and climbed into the bed, making space for England in his arms. Groaning England turned onto hip, pressing against America with a wince.

 

“Well, at least I can tell which hip is the one with your finger prints. Apparently, this whole mess has considerably slowed my healing process.”

 

America didn't say anything, just buried his nose in England’s hair.

 

“No reason to be embarrassed now.” England yawned “Why are you always so warm?”

 

“Well, it doesn’t even snow in the southern states, well except the mountains.”

 

“Hm,” England murmured, eyes sliding shut. “I'll need to send a telegram...” The thought disappeared as the heroin finally kicked in and England succumbed to sleep. 

 

***

 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” America said, back in his chair on the side of the bed. “They said as long as you don’t walk around too much you can come home with me.” 

 

“I can walk around as much as I bloody please.” England sniffed, looking up from the paper to glare at America. It had been several hours that England had slept and he was irritated when he found that the American had left his bed in favor the chair. He was fully aware that questions would be raised if the staff found them in such a position, but at this moment he really couldn’t summon the energy to care. 

 

“My bed is much more comfortable.”

 

England snorted. “You young men. Never satisfied.” 

 

“Are you complaining?” He smiled at him. “But really, it gives me a chance to keep you warm.”

 

“I never said I was complaining,” England said lightly as he turned to the next page. “You’ll just have to do more the work since it seems I have quite a bit more healing than you.” He smiled suggestively, the expression being exchanged for a innocent one when a nurse walked in with a stack of papers that could only be his release forms. 

 

***

 

“Arthur, I can just carry you up,” America said, walking back out from the kitchen to find England staring at the stairs. His New York house had changed since the last time they’d both been there, the fixtures updated from gas to electric. The furniture was mostly new, although a few items that were nearly a century old were tucked in some corners. 

 

“I am not sure if I would prefer to die from shame or from falling down the stairs,” England said flatly, as if seriously debating the options.

 

“Why would I tell someone?”

 

“It's about the fact that I would know.” England sighed. “Just hurry up over here. It’s inconvenient to stand. Apparently hours left inside of iceberg filled water is not good for one’s body.”

 

“It felt like hours didn’t it. They told me it was something like thirty minutes.” He came over and picked up England in his arms and started up the stairs.

 

“Thirty minutes since they got you wrapped up and logical enough to speak.” England sighed “But how long was it that you swam? How long did it take before they wrapped you and got over your panicking and chattering? Calmed down enough to make out your sentences and why you needed them to go where you were pointing?”

 

America’s jaw tightened. He took England into his room and settled him on his feet. “I’ll get you some pajamas.” 

 

“Don’t bother. The less layers might be more comfortable.” England protested “I’d... I’d rather you join me.”

 

America turned around, watching England. He reached up and began working off his clothes until he was down to his underwear. He settled on the edge of the bed.

 

England sighed. “Alfred... you’re upset. What about now?”

 

“Are you mad at me? I can’t tell.”

 

“Excuse me?” England shrugged out of the clothes from the hospital, staring at America with unwashed hair and purple bruises around his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I did what I could.” Emotion broke across his face. “A lot of them were coming here. I couldn’t save them. I did save you... and I’m not sure if you are angry at me for it.”

 

England's cheeks flushed with anger. He hadn’t  been angry before but now he was. “Alfred that is enough!” He rocked off the bed to his feet. “How dare you think me ungrateful! How dare you think less of our situation like that!”

 

“Then that I wasn’t fast enough or something! I... forget I said anything. I wasn’t accusing you of being ungrateful.” He flopped backwards on the bed. “I... you don’t know how I felt when you were unconscious. I was trying to think of what else I could have done. There were newspapermen scouring the hospital looking for interviews... the list of names came out...” He pulled off his glasses and lay his arm over his eyes.

 

“You got people on boats didn't you! You helped gather people from the water didn’t you! You couldn't have done anymore!” His voice got quiet  “Do not belittle people sacrifices by thinking of what you couldn't do.” He sat back on the bed cringing. “Think of what you and the other men did manage to do Alfred.”

 

America was quiet for a moment. His fingers landed on England’s back, tracing the bruises. “I haven’t slept in two -three?- days. I don’t even know what day it is right now.”

 

“Then let's turn in. I'm exhausted.” England sighed and didn't wait for the other before tugging the sheets back and beneath with a series of swears and held breaths.

 

Climbing in beside him, America lay an arm across his middle. “That doesn’t hurt does it?”

 

“Breathing hurts. Everything shoulders down hurts,” he admitted, but turned closer into the other’s embrace. He wouldn't admit to the nightmares he had yesterday and he knew they would be back today.

 

“Do you need more medicine?”

 

“No, I just need sleep.” England sighed, shifting so his face tucked into the curve of America's neck and shoulder.  If the boy ever claimed he had been this affectionate he would deny it till his death. “Everyone wishes they could have done more,” he whispered.

 

“Thank you.” America settled against him and soon his breath evened out into sleep.

 

England stared at nothing as he listened to America breath. His mind churned over the last twenty four hours, what had been revealed, the haze that he had been in after they had fallen in the water, the sinking. It was all so much. Peering up at America he was torn, glad he had kept his questions to himself but ravenously curious. What shape had he been in when America had found him? Had it been that bad? What about the hospital? England sighed, sleep edging over his thoughts. He really was exhausted.

 

***

 

England thrashing in his sleep woke him. “Arthur!” America said, trying to settle the other’s flailing limbs. Gasping for air England jolted awake, slick with sweat, green eyes stared back at him, pupils blown wide in panic.

 

“You're okay,” he croaked.

 

“We both are,” America said, smoothing England's hair back from his forehead.

 

England breathed in heavily through his nose and out through his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to relax. 

 

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” America pulled him to his chest. It took mere seconds and England was asleep again as if nothing happened. Leaving America alone with his thoughts.

 

When he’d first found England on the deck, he thought he’d just fallen asleep. He’d promised him he could sleep when they were rescued, so he’d eaten his meal, intending to wake England up after he’d gotten a second serving. When he’d reached over to touch his cheek, he jumped. He was still as cold as he’d been when he’d pulled him out of the water. He shook him, trying to get him to wake. It had been about that time someone had noticed and came over to help. They tried to keep him on deck as they took England below, but he’d managed to appeal to their sympathy. England’s breath had been slow, his blood pressure low. America had watched the rise and fall of his chest to make sure he was still breathing as they came into New York. It was when they’d gotten on shore that things had become a problem. He felt bad about the medical equipment that had been tipped over. And the chair. He would have to send a donation.

 

He listened now, each of England’s steady breaths. Exhaustion pulled him under as he was counting.

 

It was the smell of smoke that woke America, and it was then that it the blue eyes blond noticed the absence or the British nation in his bed.

 

Worried that the house was on fire, America hurried through the house calling England’s name. Finally, the clanging of something in the kitchen sent him flying in that direction. He pulled open the door only to become enveloped in smoke. He ran through to open the window. “Arthur?”

 

“Stop your shouting, I'm just making breakfast,” England snapped. When the smoke cleared out a bit, America turned to see England in front of the stove, arms crossed, one hand wielding a spoon. He was dressed in an oversized button up, America's, hair a mess and foot taping in irritation. “Honestly, your neighbors are going to file a complaint!”

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be out of bed first.” 

 

“I was hungry. And if I am i figured you certainly were.”

 

“I am.” America kept the window open, so the April air could drag away the smoke that had filled the kitchen. “What are you making?”

 

“Scones.” England’s small chest puffed out proudly. “Just like when you were a child.” He turned back to towards the stove. “I was going to start on eggs and such but then you rushed in here in a panic.”

 

“I can do the eggs.” America stood up. “You focus on the scones.” 

 

“I've got it handled,” England protested. 

 

“I’ll just make some coffee then.” America got up to pull down the coffee percolator from the shelf and began rummaging in the cupboard for the coffee beans.

 

Pleased with winning the argument, England turned towards the counter. “At least you have a serviceman that brings in your groceries every morning, despite having no housemaid. Otherwise, there would have been nothing for us to eat this morning. I found the eggs, salted pork and other things just inside the door,” England commented, cracking eggs into the pain, the fat from the pig loud in the pan next to it. England watched the food as America made his coffee, tapping the spoon against the counter. “Hey!” he argued as America’s large form pressed against his back and the younger pulled the tool from his hand. 

 

Wrapping an arm around him, America held him close while he began working on frying the eggs. He pressed a kiss to the back of England’s head. “I’m glad you are feeling well enough to cook.”

 

Ignoring America’s questioning sound, England cracked more eggs into the oversized pan. “I cannot believe you don’t keep tea in the house.”

 

“I could go to the market and get you some. I’d obviously have to dress first though,” he joked. trying to keep track of which eggs had been cooking the longest.

 

“Don’t bother I am ravenous.” 

 

“Can you get me a plate to put the eggs on?”

 

“You will have to lower the blockade first.” England gestured to his arms. 

 

America pressed another kiss to the back of his head and removed the arm around England’s waist. He put the finished eggs on the plate and finished off the meat in the other pan. England pulled the scones from the oven, scooping the blackened pastries onto a plate and moved them to the small table in the dining room. He took the plates from America’s hand, gesturing for him to grab the silverware. It took moments before the table was set and they sat down. England piled a copious amount of food onto America’s plate before handing it to him and then doing the same for himself. 

 

America’s stomach rumbled and he started in on his food. He hadn’t eaten very well since the sinking.  A conversation was nonexistent between the pair as they ate. 

 

England staunchly ignored the other’s look of surprise as the slight blond kept pace with his counterpart. There was a reason that he had added more food to both pans. Plates were cleared and glasses were emptied, England leaning back in his chair feeling fairly overfull. With a small groan, England put his fork down and laid his hand on his belly. “Much better.”

 

“Food does help doesn’t it?” America said. He looked at England across the table. Do you want to get cleaned up? I have a shower now, it’s faster than a bath and it’s warm.”

 

England winced. “Being pelted with hot water actually does not sound overly pleasant.”

 

“It’s great, you could try it.” 

 

England glanced at the bandages on his legs “I suppose…”  England sighed. He would have to look at his healing skin sooner or later. 

 

“Or we could just do things the old-fashioned way with a bowl of hot water,” America said, watching England look at his injuries.

 

“No a shower will be fine, thank you.” England nodded with a half smile. America sipped at his coffee and then smiled at him over the rim of the mug. America stretched out his bandaged hand towards England.

 

England gave him a small smile. “Ready when you are I suppose.” 

 

“I don’t know how long the hot water will last if you want my company.”

 

“What do you mean? Shower together?”

 

America turned pink. “Never mind.”

 

“That’s all right. It won’t be like we haven’t before.” England got up from the table and began to gather the dishes. “You probably should go get it started.”

 

***

 

“I’ll check the boiler.” Handing off his dishes to England, he made his way to another part of the house. Sighing, England watched him for a moment before cleaning off the table and setting things to soak. If they were going to shower, there was no need to waste hot water on the dishes. Headed for the bathroom which he had found that morning, England made quick work of  Alfred’s shirt before starting on the ugly sight that was his bandages. 

 

“It’s not as bad as it was,” America said, letting England unwrap his hands. 

 

“That's the benefit of being a nation I suppose. We heal absurdly fast.” Sitting down on the toilet England allowed America to unwrap the bandages on his legs. The skin beneath was red and shiny in patches, but overall it seemed that most of his skin had healed already. England heaved a sigh of relief he didn't know that he had been holding.  Wiggling his toes England gestured for America to turn on the shower, impressed when hot water dripped and then poured out of the shower head. Allowing America to pull him to his feet and into the shower, he sighed once more as they stepped beneath the wide spray of hot water that dumped down on them. 

 

He didn’t realize how filthy he had felt. A cloth touched his shoulders and England jumped. Opening his eyes, he found America smiling at him with a soapy cloth in hand. Closing his eyes again, he allowed the other to run the cloth over his skin, bruises and all. Down his neck, over his collarbone, shoulders, ankles, his belly, hips, thighs, calves and ankles.   Only when the other had soaped him completely did he open his eyes and took the cloth out of Alfred's hand, gesturing for the bar of soap and returned the favor, starting from the ankles up. 

 

Running the cloth along Alfred’s jaw line he marveled at the simplicity of the situation. To be able to perform such simple tasks after the events of the last couple of days was mind blowing. Fingers threaded with those of this free hands and it was of no surprise to the British man when he was pulled into a soft kiss, water running over them softly.  

 

It was so simple, quaint and England found himself wishing for it to become a regularity. 


End file.
